If Spring Ever Comes
by Eribeth Whitlock
Summary: It's been four years since Harry, Ron and Hermione uncovered Talitha's plot, and everything in the Wizarding World has been peaceful,but some death eaters never give up! SEQUEL TO THE ONSET OF AUTUMN
1. Chapter 1

**Ron**

Winona's Wedding Wear is exactly the sort of shop that always makes me uncomfortable even if Hermione's with me – and she isn't. "As long as you're picking up your robes and Harry's from Madam Malkin's, you might as well fetch my bridesmaid's dress afterwards," she said to me this morning. "Mind you use a Hover Charm so it doesn't wrinkle – and _don't_ go Disapparating and leaving the packages behind, whatever you do!"

"I only did that once," I said defensively, even though it's actually been a few times. And somehow I found myself spending my afternoon off in a bloody bridal shop. I thought they'd have the dress all wrapped up or something, but the shop assistant insists on bringing it out and placing it on a rack for me to look over.

"Best to make sure there aren't any problems," she says chirpily, like I'm going to know the difference.

"It looks fine to me," I say, noting approvingly that it's strapless. I don't know much about women's clothing, but I know what I like.

"Fitted to the waist, with a full skirt for dancing," the assistant says, smoothing the material. "Will you be taking the shoes as well?"

I look at her blankly. Hermione never mentioned shoes.

"Satin pumps, size six, dyed cornflower blue to match the dress," the assistant prompts.

"Yeah, okay," I say, hoping I've got enough money on me. "Er, you _are_ going to cover that dress with something when I take it out of here, aren't you?" I'm sure it'll look great on Hermione, but I don't fancy carting it through Diagon Alley.

"Oh, of course," the assistant says, flicking her wand at the dress. A white cloth appears from nowhere and wraps itself around the blue material. "We wouldn't want anyone to see it ahead of time, would we? It spoils the surprise."

_Not exactly what I meant, but never mind._ "Er, right," I say.

The assistant lowers her voice. "I don't mind telling you, there's been a lot of interest in this wedding," she says. "After all, it's not every day that Harry Potter gets married, is it? But the staff at Winona's is absolutely _committed_ to protecting the privacy of our clients." She looks over her shoulder as she speaks, even though we're the only people in the shop. "Would you like a peek at your sister's wedding gown? It's absolutely gorgeous."

_I just want to get the hell out of here, thanks._ "Better not," I say hastily. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

I feel a lot better once I'm outside. I glance across the street at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. There's plenty of time to stop in and say hello to George and Angelina.

George is doing something at the top of a stepladder, but he comes down to greet me. "Very fetching," he says, lifting a corner of the cloth covering Hermione's dress. "It'll be lovely with your eyes."

"Shut up," I say. "That's Hermione's dress, obviously. Harry and I are both wearing plain navy blue silk dress robes." I pull back the covering on one to show him. Madam Malkin was all for fancying them up a bit with light blue stars to match the bridesmaids' gowns, but Harry managed to talk her out of it.

"These must be Harry's," George says, looking the robes over. "Seeing as they'd be a good six inches too short for you. Why have you got his robes as well as your own?"

"Because Harry," I say, grinning at George, "is at the Burrow, probably polishing silver or cleaning the chicken coop – or both at the same time, if I know Mum. He keeps trying to go in to work and Gawain keeps sending him out again. Gawain thinks he's helping, but it'd really be kinder to let Harry come in to the office and get a bit of rest."

George laughs. "I remember the week before Bill's wedding only too well," he says. "Why do you think Angelina and I eloped?"

"If you'd had a proper wedding, she might have gotten a bit of it out of her system ahead of time," I say. George and Angelina ran off and got married two months ago when they were away at the Quidditch Semi-Finals in Luxembourg. Mum still hasn't gotten over it.

"Angelina doesn't like dressing up, and neither do I," George says with a shrug. "And look who's talking."

"Hermione and I had a wedding," I say. "Sort of." _Okay, so it was a bit unexpected, but so what?_

"Anyway," George says. "Mum wasn't about to be done out of this one. Not with her only daughter marrying the man she secretly wishes were her own son…"

"If he was, he couldn't marry Ginny," I say, but I reckon George has got a point there. Mum hasn't had a chance to plan something like this since Bill and Fleur's wedding. And with Charlie pretty much married to his dragons, and Percy trying to break the record for the world's longest engagement, it'll be a while before she gets another chance. Still, wild Hippogriffs couldn't drag me within a mile of the Burrow this week.

Angelina comes out of the back room and waves me over. "You'll be interested in this, Ron," she says, pointing to the newspaper in her hand. "An old friend of yours is back in town."

An old friend? I wonder why Hermione didn't mention it – she had the _Daily Prophet_ at breakfast this morning. I lean over to see what Angelina's pointing at.

_"Malfoy Family To Re-Open Manor,"_ I read aloud. I look up and catch George's eye. "Did you know about this?"

George shakes his head slowly. "So old Lucius is back in town, is he?" he remarks. "I wonder why?"

I wonder that myself. The article doesn't say much about the Malfoys – it's all about some stupid reception they're holding at the Manor next week. I take a look at the heading at the top of the page and realize it's the Society section. That explains why Hermione didn't see it – she never reads what she calls "that rubbish". "Mind if I take this?" I ask Angelina. "I want to show it to Harry."

"You can have the whole thing," Angelina says. "On second thought, leave me enough to cover the bottom of the Pygmy Puff cages. That's what I was bringing it out for when I spotted the name Malfoy."

I tear out the Malfoy article and hand her the rest of the paper. "You're going to show Harry?" George asks, raising an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten where Harry _is_?"

Bloody hell. "If I'm really quick, she might not see me," I say hopefully.

George laughs. "Now that's what I call being dedicated to your job," he says teasingly. "Risking life and limb to bring a message to a fellow Auror… I reckon this might be the most dangerous thing you've ever done."

He might just be right. "Thanks a lot," I say. "Be sure and mention it to Gawain Robards if you see him."

**Hermione**

Ron's awfully late – I hope they didn't keep him waiting at Winona's. I feel slightly guilty about the fact that I didn't go with him, but I knew that meeting with the Department of International Magical Cooperation was going to run over. They're all so long-winded, especially Percy.

"Coming over to the Burrow tonight, Hermione?" he asked when the meeting finally drew to a close. "Audrey and I though we might pop in and lend a hand."

"We can't tonight," I'd said, forcing myself to sound regretful. "We've already made plans."

Percy's fiancée Audrey is lovely, but she's nearly as pompous as he is. "They must bore the pants off each other," Ron had said frankly after meeting her for the first time. "It's a wonder either of them stayed awake long enough for Percy to propose."

Still, she's being a good deal more help to Ginny than I am. I feel a slight twinge of guilt when I think of it, but we've been so busy at work that I really didn't feel as though I could ask for any extra time off.

_And you remember what Molly was like before Bill's wedding,_ a voice in my head says accusingly, but I manage to ignore it. The wedding's not till this weekend; there's masses of time. Anyway, Harry and Ginny keep saying they don't want a big fuss – not that Molly's paid a shred of attention.

Pigwidgeon starts twittering excitedly, which means Ron's on his way home. Sure enough, the door opens less than a minute later. "Here's your dress," Ron says, indicating one of the cloth-covered objects Hovering next to him. "And your shoes." He sets a box down on the kitchen table and leans over to kiss me. "Settle _down_, Pig!"

"Goodness, I forgot about the shoes," I say, taking the wrapping off my dress. It looks perfect, but I suppose I'd better try it on to make sure. "Your new robes look nice," I say, glancing over my shoulder at Ron. "Was the fit all right?"

Ron nods wearily and drops down on the sofa. He looks exhausted. I know he didn't want to go to Winona's without me, but it can't have been _that_ bad.

"Why are you so tired?" I ask, stepping carefully into the blue dress.

"Because I've been at the Burrow," Ron says. "I only just escaped with my life. And you owe me one. Mum wanted to send you an owl to come for dinner – probably so she could make us re-shingle the broom shed afterwards – but I said Perdita and Marvin had already invited us to their place."

"Thank goodness they did," I say, turning around so he can help me with the zipper. Ron's Auror partner, Perdita, always makes me laugh – she's exactly what I need after that boring meeting today. Her Healer husband Marvin is a bit quieter, but he's got an excellent sense of humor. He's been a lot of help to me with my latest project, and I'm looking forward to talking it over with him tonight.

"What on earth made you go there, anyway?" I ask Ron. "You could have left Harry's robes at Grimmauld Place with Kreacher." I smooth my dress and try to see the back over my shoulder. "Is the length all right?"

"Now that's what I call a dress," Ron says, looking me over. "I thought it was going to be one of those horrible pink puffy things like the Patil twins had on at Seamus and Lavender's wedding."

I can't help being amused. "Lavender wanted everything to have a Valentine's Day theme," I say. "She spent months planning it."

"Lucky for you Ginny's got better taste than that," Ron says. "Let's see it with the shoes."

I step into the shoes. They're uncomfortable, like all high heels, but they seem to fit well enough. Now if only my hair will behave itself…

"Oh yeah," Ron says. "Mum wants to know if you can go over tomorrow after work and help her re-do the party favors, because she doesn't like the way Harry and I did them. And you're supposed to meet Ginny and Fleur at the florist shop on your lunch hour tomorrow. Fleur's got some new idea about the flowers or something."

"What sort of idea?" I ask suspiciously. I hope Fleur isn't going to go changing Ginny's mind about everything at the last minute.

"Dunno," Ron says evasively, which means he _does_ know and I'm not going to like the answer.

"Fine, don't tell me," I say, turning around again so he can unzip me.

Ron grins at me. "Wait till I tell you why I went over there in the first place," he says. "That'll take your mind off flowers."

I take off the uncomfortable shoes (oh, _much_ better) and look at him expectantly.

"Still got today's _Prophet_?" Ron asks. "Turn to the Society section."

I find the paper and flip it open. I'm expecting to see a mention of Harry and Ginny's upcoming wedding, so the headline takes me by surprise. "Why, for heaven's sake?" I say aloud.

"Exactly what we're all wondering," Ron says. "Old Lucius has seemed pretty settled in New Zealand the last few years. We've kept an eye on him, of course, but – "

"Well, whoever was meant to be doing it can't have been watching him very closely," I point out. "Or you would have known they were coming back." I look down at the article again. It doesn't mention Draco – it just says Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. "They are _all_ coming, aren't they?" I ask.

Ron shrugs. "Guess we'll find out when they get here," he says. "I'd like to stake out that reception myself, but it's the same day as Harry and Ginny's wedding."

"Which almost the entire Auror Department is attending," I say. "Lucius Malfoy couldn't have planned it better if – oh."

"Exactly," Ron says, grinning at me. He gets up. "Guess I'd better change – I've got glitter all over my robes from the bloody party favors."

I stay where I am, staring blankly at the page in front of me. I still can't think why the Malfoys would be coming back to England, but I'm willing to bet it doesn't mean anything good. They left the country years ago – right after Draco was cleared of conspiracy charges in the Talitha affair. Ron told me – in confidence, of course – that they'd requested protection from the Aurors and that they planned to live under assumed names. So why come back?

A tapping at the window interrupts my thoughts. An unfamiliar screech owl drops an envelope on the table and flies off again almost immediately. It's addressed to both of us – something to do with the wedding, maybe?

"Hermione!" Ron calls from the bedroom. "Where are my clean socks?"

"Never mind," I say, scanning the parchment in my hand. "Perdita and Marvin have canceled."

Ron comes to the doorway, looking surprised. "Why?" he demands. "I saw Perdita this morning and she didn't say a word about it."

"It doesn't say," I answer, handing him the note. "Marvin wrote it – it just says 'sorry, we've got to cancel'. Maybe he had to work at St. Mungo's or something."

"Then why not say so?" Ron grumbles. "Come to think of it, Perdita was acting a bit funny this morning. She hardly said a word during the staff meeting."

"You've said yourself that it's all you can do to stay awake during some of those," I remind him.

Ron shrugs, looking disappointed. "We might have had them here if she didn't feel like cooking," he says. "Not that we've got room for four people, of course – but we might have gone out."

This flat _is_ awfully small, but it's all we can afford at the moment. Things are much easier now that we're both working, but we're trying to save up to buy a house. And rents – even for a tiny place like this one – are simply staggering these days, what with so many people finally feeling safe to come back to the city. I never realized how expensive everything was while we were still living at Grimmauld Place. Ron and I moved out last year when Harry and Ginny got engaged and she moved in. Harry kept saying we didn't need to leave, but really I think it's better for them to be on their own.

"We could go out by ourselves," I offer. I feel rather disappointed myself – not least because I was looking forward to a night off cooking. I'm still not awfully good at it, and Ron's even worse than I am.

"Let's go to the Muggle cimena," Ron says, brightening.

"_Cin_-e-ma," I correct. We went with Mum and Dad when we were visiting them in Australia last spring, and Ron really enjoyed it, although I had a hard time making him understand that it wasn't actually happening.

"Yeah, that," Ron says. "Go on, Hermione, we haven't had a proper date in ages."

I slip past him and pull my jeans out of the wardrobe. "Muggle clothes," I remind him. "And mind you don't keep pointing your wand at the screen like last time."

"That bloke who was supposed to be the hero was a prat," Ron says unrepentantly. "Want to eat before or after?"

"After," I say, pulling a Muggle shirt over my head. "Then we can go to the early show. What did Harry say about the Malfoys?"

**Harry**

"We're already on it," Gawain Robards says. "We've got people stationed at Malfoy Manor –they haven't arrived yet but – "

"Did you know?" I interrupt.

Gawain shakes his head, looking annoyed. "Dawlish was supposed to be watching them and he hadn't a clue," he says. "All that Confunding during the Second War seems to have muddled his brain completely – I wouldn't trust him to guard a flobberworm at this point. He's been recalled, of course."

I'm not particularly fond of Dawlish, but I can't help feeling a touch of sympathy. The Head of the Auror Department isn't exactly pleasant to be around when he's annoyed with you. He doesn't get that way with me very often anymore, but I remember my early days in the Aurors only too well. "What're you going to do with him now?" I ask.

Gawain shrugs. "Office duty, I suppose," he grumbles. "Complete waste of space, but after all…"

He doesn't finish, but I know what he means. It's not Dawlish's fault he was Confunded so often – well, it _is_, sort of – but it wouldn't be right to sack him when he was injured in the line of duty.

"The funny thing is, Lucius doesn't appear to have been in touch with anyone in England at all," Gawain says abruptly. "Of course, he might just be homesick, but somehow I rather doubt it."

So do I. Lucius Malfoy isn't the type to get homesick – and anyway, they were doing rather well in New Zealand. "Is Draco Malfoy coming back with his parents?" I ask.

"Seems to be," Gawain says. "I sent Hestia to replace Dawlish. She says they're definitely closing up the house. Mind, young Draco might be going somewhere else – but somehow I don't think so."

I don't think so, either. I wonder briefly what Draco Malfoy's like now – if he's still a poisonous little git, or if his four years in hiding have made him see things a bit differently. Probably not – not as long as he's been with Lucius and Narcissa…

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Gawain asks, breaking into my thoughts. "I told you to take the rest of the day off – you must have things to do, with the wedding coming up."

"Yeah, right," I say. "Today I cleaned the chicken coop and then made five hundred party favors – all of which Molly said I did wrong. I've hardly seen Ginny at all – she's been getting her dress fitted all week. And Ginny's Auntie Muriel was there all afternoon saying stuff like "Pity about his hair, Molly. Can't he _do_ something about it?"

Gawain gives me one of his rare smiles. "It does get a bit chaotic," he says. "I'd forgotten, but – " He breaks off abruptly, but I'm sure he was thinking about his own wedding. Gawain never talks about his family – all I know is that they were all killed by Death Eaters, back in the first War.

"I'd rather be at work, to be honest," I say quickly, giving him a chance to recover. "I think I'm just getting in the way at the Burrow. And the Malfoys' return might flush Parkinson and Pucey out – I ought to be watching for that." Simon Parkinson and Adrian Pucey haven't been seen or heard of since they escaped from the battle at Azkaban four years ago. I've followed plenty of false leads, but the only thing we know for certain is they're definitely not in England.

"Perhaps," Gawain says thoughtfully. "What did you have in mind?"

"Pansy Parkinson," I say. "She always had a bit of a thing for Draco Malfoy when we were at school. I'd bet anything she'll be one of the first to welcome him home."

"Is Pansy the one who looks like a pug dog?" Gawain asks. "I never thought I'd feel sorry for young Malfoy, but – very well, then. Perhaps you should keep a close eye. You may tell Molly that circumstances compel you to return to work."

"Thanks," I say, relieved. "Have I missed anything else?"

"The other project is coming along as planned," Gawain says, turning over a bit of parchment on his desk. "We received confirmation today that the application has been accepted."

"Excellent," I say.

"Not a word to anyone," Gawain warns, not for the first time.

I nod. The project is top-secret. I haven't even told Ron. "I'm off, then," I say, getting up. "I think I'll take Ginny to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron – see if I can pick up any gossip about the Malfoys."

"You'd do better to keep your mind on your future bride," Gawain says, but I think he approves.

**Ron**

"I don't see why we can't go over there," Harry says for about the millionth time. "I want to see Ginny."

"You can't," I say. "It's bad luck for you to see the bride before the ceremony."

Harry gives me a disgusted look. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

Not really, considering Hermione and I spent all of the time leading up to our wedding ceremony together and things turned out all right. Better than all right. "It doesn't matter if I believe it or not," I tell him. "_Mum_ believes it – and if you want to get her worked up just now, you're a braver man than I am."

"Oh," Harry says, quenched.

He gets up and starts pacing again. I can't help feeling sorry for him – if I'd had to wait around for hours before my wedding, I'd have been a wreck. There's a lot to be said for getting married unexpectedly– you don't have time to get nervous.

"This is new, isn't it?" I say, leaning over to look at a chessboard on the side table. It's a real beauty – hand carved, looks like, with gems along the edge.

"Wedding present from Gawain," Harry says.

"What about a game of chess?" I suggest. It might distract him – and anyway, I want to try out that board.

Harry agrees, but he plays even worse than usual. "Forget it," he says, after I beat him in what has to be the shortest game on record. "I can't concentrate."

_That was sort of obvious._ I flick my wand at the wireless hopefully. The regular Quidditch season's over, but we might get some news about the World Cup.

"… and this wedding is _the_ social event of the season," a woman's voice says. "Of course, we all know who Harry Potter is, and his bride is famous in her own right as one of the highest-scoring Chasers of this past season…"

"Sorry," I say, hastily switching it off again. "Reckon you're nervous enough without hearing it referred to as '_the_ social event of the season'."

Harry gives me an abstracted smile. He probably didn't even hear it.

I look around the room. It's a far cry from what it was a few years ago. Ginny's determined to do over the whole house, but between her schedule and Harry's, they've had to take it one room at a time. "Remember the night we slept on the floor in here?" I say. "We could've done with that new carpet – the floor was a bit hard."

Harry grins at me. "What I remember is waking up and thinking that it looked as though you and Hermione had fallen asleep holding hands," he says.

I feel my ears get red, even though it was years ago. "She was scared, that's all," I say defensively. _And so was I, but I wasn't about to admit it._ "_I_ remember waking up and thinking _you'd_ been abducted by the Death Eaters."

"I forgot all about you two when I found that letter from my mum," Harry admits. His eyes light up. "That reminds me – come and have a look at Dean's wedding present."

I follow him into the dining room. They've made a lot of improvements in this room, too – a person could actually eat in here now without losing their appetite.

"Look at this," Harry says proudly, pointing to a large frame on the wall. I recognize the four subjects right away.

"It's the photograph you found upstairs, isn't it?" I say. "Only he's put your Mum in there in place of Wormtail." I move closer to study it. Dean's done a brilliant job. Lily, James, Remus and Sirius all smile and wave at me. "Do they talk yet?" I ask.

Harry shakes his head. "They smile a lot, but that's all," he says. "Dean said sometimes it takes a while."

I've heard that, too, although I wouldn't know from experience. The Weasleys have never had enough extra gold to go around having our portraits painted.

"Ginny hasn't even seen it yet," Harry says. "I told her about it, though."

Ginny's been staying at the Burrow for the past two weeks. Mum insisted – even though it's ridiculous because she's been living with Harry for ages. Harry's looking at his watch again. "It must be nearly time," he says.

It's not. "What about a drink?" I suggest, spotting a decanter on the sideboard. "Calm you down a bit – you know." Sirius's painted eyes meet mine and he gives me a solemn wink.

Harry accepts the glass of firewhisky that I hand him, but just stares at it blankly. "Where's Hermione?" he asks after a minute.

"She was going over to the Burrow early to help Ginny get dressed," I say. "I'll meet her there."

Harry takes a slug of his drink and grins at me. "Did she send you over here to keep me out of the way?"

"Well – yeah," I admit. "Mind, she was a bit fussed about her hair. There's some sort of flowery thing she's got to put it in – Fleur's idea – and Hermione said there wasn't enough Sleekeasy in the world. I thought I'd better clear out."

Harry doesn't seem to have heard me. "Ginny's got gorgeous hair," he says dreamily.

I toss down the rest of my firewhisky. It's going to be a long afternoon. Harry moves to stand in front of the portrait again. "I may as well get into my dress robes," he says restlessly.

I look at my watch. We've still got three hours before I dare to bring him anywhere near the Burrow. "I think you should eat something first," I say, inspired. "Don't want you passing out or anything, do we?"

"I'm not hungry," Harry says, but he sits down at the table.

I take that as a good sign and hurry off to find Kreacher. He and Winky are in the middle of a row, but they stop when they see me.

"Mr. Wheezy, sir!" Kreacher croaks, bowing so low that his nose touches the floor.

"Er, hi," I say uncomfortably. I hate it when they do that. "Do you think you could bring Harry a sandwich? I think he ought to eat something."

"Winky will fix – " Winky starts eagerly, but Kreacher quells her with a look.

"Kreacher will feed his master on master's wedding day," he says sternly.

Winky looks crushed. "Got any of those cream cakes?" I ask, just to cheer her up.

"Right here, sir," Winky says eagerly. I take a couple – just to make her happy, mind. Although Winky is a really good cook, which is more than you can say for either me or Hermione. We eat out a lot.

I start to follow Kreacher from the kitchen, but Winky catches hold of the back of my robes. "Mr. Ron, sir?" she whispers. "If Winky came to live with Mr. Ron and Miss Hermione, Winky could be making cream cakes for them all the time."

We've been through this. Winky's dying to come and be our house-elf. Harry wouldn't mind, since all Winky and Kreacher do is argue, but Hermione won't have a house-elf unless Winky agrees to be paid – which she won't. "We haven't really got room," I say kindly, which is true enough. "Maybe when we get a proper house." Maybe by then one of them will have changed their mind.

Eating uses up about a half hour, and then Harry's pacing again. "Fine," I say, exasperated. "Go and get dressed, then." I think of Hermione and hesitate. "Er, you don't need any help or anything, do you?"

"Yeah, I need you to help me put flowers in my hair," Harry says, giving me a very rude hand gesture. He pauses in the doorway. "Actually, if you really want to help me…"

"What?" I say, a little warily. I know I'm his best man and all, but there's a limit.

"Take the Invisibility Cloak and have a quick look-in at Malfoy Manor," Harry says unexpectedly. "I just want to know who's there."

"One condition," I say. "Never mention this to Hermione."

"Done," Harry says. "Come out in the hall and I'll toss the Cloak down to you."

**Hermione**

"You look absolutely beautiful," I say sincerely, standing back to get a good look at Ginny. Her white dress – cut like mine, but with pearls edging the flounces of the skirt – suits her to perfection, and she looks happier than I've ever seen her.

Ginny gives me a radiant smile. "Now all I have to do is stay perfectly still for the next half hour so I don't spoil anything," she says. "I wish I could see Harry."

"You'll see him soon," I answer. Harry and Ron got here far too early, but George said he'd keep Harry's mind off things. I didn't quite dare to ask what he meant by that.

I take a quick look in the mirror at myself, but my hair's miraculously staying put in its French twist with the tiny blue flowers entwined in it. I forgave Fleur for her suggestion about the flowers when she taught me several easy hairdressing charms. She's actually gotten quite a bit nicer since she started having babies, but I don't suppose I'll ever feel as comfortable with her as I do with Ginny, or even Angelina.

"What's happened to Luna?" Ginny asks, looking around.

"Who knows?" I say, trying not to sound as impatient as I feel. "Probably making sure there aren't any Nargles in the shrubbery or something." I'm very fond of Luna, and it was lovely of Ginny to ask her to be a bridesmaid, but _honestly_. I had a dreadful time convincing her to leave off her dirigible plum earrings, and an even worse time talking her out of putting Gurdyroots in all of our bouquets. ("Well, if you say so, Hermione, but how are you going to feel if there are Wrackspurts about during the ceremony?")

Ginny giggles, just as the door opens and Luna comes in. "Your brothers are so funny!" she informs Ginny.

Oh dear. "Is Harry all right?" I ask quickly.

"He's fine," Luna says airily. "I don't think he's heard a word anyone's said to him." She looks Ginny over appraisingly. "You do look nice," she says. "That's a lovely tiara."

Ginny throws me a panicked look. "Hermione, whatever you do, don't let me forget to give this back to Auntie Muriel before Harry and I leave," she says. "Fleur didn't return it right away, and Muriel was all over her."

"Your aunt's already mentioned that four times," Luna says cheerfully. "I think Fleur's ready to hex her."

Ginny looks uneasy. "Muriel's here already? Not coming upstairs, is she?"

If that old woman says one awful thing to Ginny, I'll hex her myself. But Luna's shaking her head. "She said she's one hundred and twelve and she can't manage all those stairs," she says. "Then she looked at me and said 'is that the Lovegood girl? Looks half-witted, doesn't she?'"

Ginny giggles again. "Same old Muriel!" she says affectionately. "Hermione, isn't it time yet?"

"I'll go and see what they're doing," I say, slipping from the room. I meet Molly in the hallway. She's out of breath from hurrying up and down the stairs so many times today, but she offers me a distracted smile.

"Hermione, it's nearly time!" she whispers, clutching both my hands. Hers are icy. "Everyone's been seated except for the family. Is Ginny all ready? Is my hat on straight?"

"You look lovely," I say, squeezing her hands. I can see Arthur pacing nervously in the hall below. "I'll get Luna and go ahead, will I?" I say soothingly. "In case you want a few minutes with Ginny."

Molly nods distractedly, then suddenly leans over and kisses my cheek. "You're a lovely daughter-in-law, Hermione," she says. "Now if only – " She breaks off and delivers a hopeful look at my midsection.

Here we go again. Molly's longing for me to have a baby, and it doesn't matter how many times Ron and I tell her that we're waiting a few more years. We did get married awfully young... and I had to finish school, and Ron had to finish his Auror training... and the course in Advanced Magical Law took another year after I passed my NEWTs. It's taken me a while to work my way up in the Department of Magical Law, and there are still so many things I want to accomplish before I start having babies. And Ron thinks we ought to wait till we've got a proper house, anyway. I was hoping that Molly might have forgotten about me now that Fleur's given birth to her second daughter, but if anything it's made her worse. "I'd better get Luna before she talks Ginny into the Gurdyroots," I say quickly, and make my escape.

The guests are already assembled under a tent that's roughly twice the size of the one Bill and Fleur had at their wedding. Then again, there are twice as many people here. I can't help feeling nervous, even though all I've got to do is walk down the aisle and then stand there. Thank goodness Ron and I never let Molly talk us into anything like this.

I look out over the crowd. Hagrid's easy to spot, and there are the other Hogwarts professors next to him. It was sweet of Harry and Ginny to invite the whole lot of them. That must be Ginny's Quidditch team over there – and there's most of the old D.A., along with a number of people I recognize as Aurors. Perdita looks round and I give her a wave, but she doesn't seem to see me.

Charlie's leading Andromeda Tonks and Teddy past us. Harry asked them to represent his family, since he obviously wasn't about to invite the Dursleys. I do think it's nice the way they've sort of adopted each other.

"Know what, Charlie? I've got new dress robes!" I hear Teddy say as they pass. His hair's pale blue today to match the color scheme.

I can't hear Charlie's reply, but Andromeda looks back over her shoulder and smiles at us. It seems funny to think I used to be a bit nervous around Andromeda. She's been a tremendous help to me with the Wolfsbane Project. Here's Fleur, carrying her infant daughter in her arms, and Bill leading their two-year-old Victoire by the hand. Percy and his fiancée Audrey pass us; then George with his mother on one arm and Angelina on the other. Molly reaches over and straightens Ginny's veil as she passes.

"Ready, then?" Arthur whispers. He looks as nervous as if it were his own wedding, but Ginny nods serenely.

The music begins and we start down the aisle. Harry's white as a sheet, but his color comes back when he sees Ginny. The way he's looking at her makes my throat tighten up. When I think of everything he's been though and how long they waited for each other…

Ron's eyes meet mine. He looks deliberately at my hair and then gives me a discreet thumbs-up. I smile at him. I waited a long time for Ron, too, and there were times when I thought it was never going to happen. But it's all been worth it.

Ernie MacMillan clears his throat and begins speaking. He's become rather in demand as a wedding officiant for former Hogwarts students. I watch the ceremony through a haze of tears, blinking them away as Ernie showers Harry and Ginny with the silver stars.

Ron's at my side and I lean my head briefly against his shoulder. "Why do women always cry at weddings?" he demands, but he slips a comforting arm around me. "No tears, Hermione – you've got to look beautiful for the photographs." He leans over and drops a kiss on my bare shoulder. "I really _do_ like this dress."

Dennis Creevey, brandishing a camera, waves us over. He told me once that he only took up photography as a way to honor Colin's memory, but then he discovered he had a talent for it. He makes a good living doing weddings and family pictures.

We line up under Dennis's direction. Just as he's about to take the picture, a strange man darts up with a camera. Suddenly we're enveloped in purple smoke. The man turns and vanishes into the crowd before anyone has time to react.

"That'll be in tomorrow's _Prophet_," Ron says, waving the smoke away.

Harry shrugs resignedly. "I reckoned at least one photographer would sneak in," he says.

"I can catch him for you," Charlie calls from a few feet away.

"Let it go," Harry decides. "He's probably Disapparated by now anyway." He grins. "Mind, if you see a beetle, feel free to squash it."

Charlie looks confused, but Ron and I exchange smirks. Rita Skeeter was moving heaven and earth trying to get an invitation to this wedding – but Harry said the only person he'd be less likely to invite was his Uncle Vernon.

We have to pose in a number of different groupings, but Dennis finally finishes with us. "Now, Harry and Ginny are to start the first dance," Molly's directing. "And then you and I come out halfway through, Arthur – and then Ron and Hermione follow us, and - "

"We know, dear," Arthur says soothingly.

"Now this is what I call a proper wedding," Muriel says loudly. Her eyes light on us. "Not like _yours_, Ronald."

"Come on," Ron says, grabbing my hand and pulling me as far away from his aunt as he can manage in that huge crowd. We wait our turn and then join Harry and Ginny on the dance floor. They still don't have eyes for anyone but each other.

The hours go by quickly. I dance with Harry, and all of the Weasleys, and once with a surprisingly light-footed Hagrid. "There were times, Hermione, when I never thought I'd live to dance at Harry Potter's weddin'," he confides in a low voice. "But just look at him now!"

I turn and see Harry, dancing with Professor McGonagall. Her usually stern expression is relaxed for once as she smiles at him.

"Come and dance, Hermione!" Neville says, taking me from Hagrid. Ron claims me again after that.

"Not much like our wedding, is it?" he says, pulling me closer.

"I would have hated a big crowd like this," I say. "I just wanted to be married to you."

"What it does remind me of is Bill and Fleur's," Ron says. "Remember dancing with me?"

I smile up at him. "What I remember," I say softly, "is wondering if you were _ever_ going to kiss me."

Ron looks startled. "I wanted to, but I was afraid you'd hex me," he protests. "I was thinking maybe I'd ask you to go for a walk and then see if I could get up the nerve to try something… only the bloody Death Eaters showed up and that sort of killed the mood."

I put my lips to his ear. "I don't see any Death Eaters here tonight," I whisper. "Want to go for a walk?"

We've nearly made it when I hear someone calling Ron's name.

Ron groans. "Bloody hell, it's Gawain," he whispers. "Doesn't look too cheerful, does he?"

Gawain's expression is a bit strained, but he manages a smile in my direction. "Hermione, you're looking lovely," he says.

"Anything wrong?" Ron asks directly.

"Nothing at all," Gawain says quickly. "I was just on my way to get a drink – don't suppose you'd care to join me?"

Ron shoots me an agonized look and I squeeze his hand. "We'd love to," I say quickly. After all, he _is_ Ron's boss – and somehow I think he's a rather lonely man.

"That was a nice chessboard you gave Harry," Ron says to Gawain, handing me a glass of champagne. "He and I had a game this morning."

"Under the circumstances, I expect you won," Gawain says dryly.

"He always wins anyway," I say. "Nobody can beat Ron at chess."

An odd look crosses Gawain's face. "Good player, are you, Weasley?" he asks sharply.

"I'm not bad," Ron says easily.

"Hmm," Gawain says. "We must have a game one day." He glances around. "There's Shacklebolt," he says abruptly. "Excuse me, won't you?"

With that, he's gone. I watch him hurry off in Kingsley's direction.

Ron grins at me. "He's a damned good Auror, but he's not much on social skills," he says cheerfully. "What about that walk, then?"

I slip my arm around his waist.

**Harry**

I wait for Ginny's eyes to open. "Good morning, Mrs. Potter," I say.

She beams at me. "I've been waiting to hear you say that to me since I was nine years old," she says.

I have to kiss her after that, and it's a while before we do any more talking. "The wedding was almost like a dream, wasn't it," Ginny says, snuggling up to me. "The whole thing seemed to go by so quickly."

I know what she means. Flashes keep coming back to me – Hagrid clapping me on the back so hard that he nearly sent me flying into the cake; Ron leading everyone in a toast to me and Ginny; dancing with Professor McGonagall and being terrified that I'd step on her feet – but for the most part it's a blur. The only part that stands out clearly is Ginny's face.

"It was sort of a haze to me, too," I admit. "Nice, though." And the best part is that now she's my wife. I finally have the one thing I've always wanted – a family. The Weasleys and Hermione have been great, of course, but now there's someone else called Potter. And someday we'll have kids, and they'll be Potters, too…

"I hate to admit it," Ginny says, breaking into my thoughts. "But I'm starving. Will we go out to breakfast, or do you suppose that nice man who brought us champagne last night would bring it up?"

"They have room service," I say, reaching for the gold-edged menu on the bedside table. "There's no need to ask anyone."

Ginny leans over me to see. "I want scrambled eggs, and toast, and pumpkin juice," she decides. A tray appears in front of her at once.

I decide on the same, and we have breakfast in bed, admiring the view of the sea outside the window. "They've sent up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_," Ginny says, reaching for it. "Goodness, we've made the front page!"

I'm nowhere near as surprised. "Must have been a slow news day," I say, sliding closer to her to see. The headline makes me choke on my pumpkin juice.

"_'The Chosen One Chooses a Bride'_," Ginny reads, giggling. "_'You could almost hear the hearts breaking all over Britain yesterday as _–'" But she's laughing too hard to go on. "You'll have to read it," she gasps finally. "I can't."

"Never mind," I say, catching sight of Rita Skeeter's byline. "I've got a pretty good idea of what it says." _Good old Rita. You'd almost think she was an invited guest, wouldn't you?_

"It's a nice picture, anyway," Ginny says, recovering. "I suppose it's the one that little man took."

"It _is_ a nice picture," I admit. "Want to save the article?"

"Absolutely," Ginny says, carefully severing the page with her wand and folding it up. "It'll be something to show our children one day."

"So they can make fun of us," I say, but I have a sudden image of Ginny and I surrounded by red-haired children. I like it.

"What do you want to do today?" I ask, tossing the rest of the paper aside unread. "Go for a walk on the beach?" It's tempting to just stay where we are. I laughed at Ron when he couldn't tell me anything about the inn he and Hermione stayed at during their brief honeymoon ("Dunno, mate – we never left the room") but now I'm beginning to understand.

"The beach can wait," Ginny says, reaching for me.

She's right. The sea's not going anywhere.

Several hours later we finally make it out to the beach. This place is a well-known Wizarding resort, but it's off-season so we've got more privacy than we'd normally have. Still, a number of people turned their heads as we came through the lobby.

"Hold still," Ginny says. "I want to do a Sunblocking Charm."

I hold still obediently while she points her wand first at me, then herself. "The sun's nearly down," I point out.

"I am not getting all freckled before I have a chance to wear my new evening dress," Ginny says firmly. "Wait'll you see it – there's hardly any back to it at all."

"In that case, I'd better take you someplace posh for dinner," I say teasingly. "I'll ask that concierge bloke when we get back."

The concierge assures me that there's an excellent restaurant on the premises. "The Waterfall Room is renowned for its cuisine, Mr. Potter," he says. "And may I offer you my congratulations?"

"Thanks," I say. It's nice to be congratulated for something as normal as getting married for once. "Er, shall we say eight o'clock, then?"

We finish the arrangements, and I look around to see Ginny coming toward me. "You'll never guess who I just saw in the Ladies'," she whispers, pulling me into a corner behind a stand of palm trees. "Astoria Greengrass!"

I recognize the name Greengrass, but I never heard of Astoria. "Which one's she?" I ask.

"Year behind me at Hogwarts," Ginny says. "Slytherin, of course, but she wasn't as bad as the rest of them. Actually, she hardly ever opened her mouth."

"She's a big improvement over her sister, then," I say. Daphne was in our year – one of Pansy Parkinson's little gang. "Did she see you?"

Ginny nods. "She was actually rather nice," she says. "Congratulated me, and asked about the wedding. Oh, and I asked her about the Malfoys."

"I love you," I say fervently. "What'd she say? Wait – _Muffliato_."

"The Greengrasses didn't go to that party at Malfoy Manor," Ginny says. "They've been here for a week already. Astoria seemed awfully disappointed about missing it. Do you suppose she's got a crush on Draco Malfoy?"

"Let's hope not," I say.

Ginny giggles. "Anyway, she said Lucius and Narcissa had invited their whole family to dinner the night after they get back from holiday, but her dad isn't sure he wants to go. She didn't know why, but I'll bet I can guess."

"Wants to see what kind of reception Lucius gets from the rest of them before he makes up his mind," I say cynically. Horatio Greengrass is a cagey one – we were never able to get a damned thing on him, even though everyone knows he was a Death Eater supporter.

"I asked her why they'd come back, and she didn't seem to know," Ginny says. "Didn't Ron find out anything when you sent him over there?"

I stare at her. "How did you know about that?" I demand.

Ginny grins at me. "I guessed," she says airily. "I know you, and I know my brother. So I was right, then?"

"Yeah, you were right, and he didn't find out much anyway," I say, grinning back. "We got a list of who was there, though. And he said Draco's as much of a git as he always was, so you can pass that along to your friend Astoria."

"If you ask me, you'd do better tracking Astoria than Pansy Parkinson," Ginny says. "At least Astoria's pretty – and she's much nicer than Pansy. If she really fancies him…"

"Maybe," I say thoughtfully. "If you see her again, introduce me, all right?" I feel suddenly guilty. "Or I can wait till we're back home," I add hastily. "This is supposed to be our honeymoon, not an Auror mission."

"I love Auror missions," Ginny says cheerfully. "And I'll be glad to introduce you to Astoria, but not if she's with that cow Daphne. I always hated her at school." She slips her hand into mine. "Now that we've got that settled, where are you taking me to dinner?" 

**Ron**

"Coming?" I say, stopping at the entrance to Perdita's cubicle.

She doesn't even look up from whatever she's writing. "You've got enough people without me," she says. "Anyway, it's the same thing every year, isn't it?"

It's the annual inspection of Hogwarts today. Professor McGonagall asked the Aurors to check the castle for curses and things before the kids come back. We've been doing it every year since the Battle. I guess it is sort of the same every year – it's not like we ever find anything – but it's always fun to go back there.

"You've got to come," I say. "Who's going to let me into Ravenclaw Tower if you're not there?" I was stuck outside that bloody door for half an hour last year till Perdita rescued me. That question and answer thing is a stupid idea anyway – what's wrong with having a password like all the other Houses?

"Ask Flitwick to help you," Perdita says. "Term starts next week – I expect all the teachers will be there." She sets the parchment aside and reaches for another.

"Perdita, what the hell is wrong with you?" I ask. She's been touchy for days now. I tried to talk to her at Harry's wedding, but she left before I had a chance.

"Nothing," Perdita says. "Go away, Ron. I have to finish this."

I sit down on her desk so she has to look at me. "I'm your partner, remember?" I say. "Go on, you can tell me." I try to think if I've done anything to annoy her lately. "Not mad at me, are you?"

Perdita sighs and puts down her quill. "It's not you," she says. "It's – oh, you may as well know. I'm pregnant."

"But that's brilliant," I say. "Er, isn't it?" And aren't pregnant women supposed to glow or something? Perdita looks like hell – not that I'd dare to say so.

"Keep your voice down!" Perdita hisses. "I don't want everyone to find out just yet. You know Gawain'll stick me on office duty as soon as I tell him."

_"Muffliato,"_ I say. "Perdita, you are pleased, aren't you?"

"I would have been," Perdita says. "Only now…" Her voice trails off.

"Now what?" I say encouragingly, but she glares at me again.

"Just go, will you?" she snaps. She reaches for her wand and I decide maybe I'd better go after all.

"All right," I say quickly. "But – well, I guess I'll see you later, then."

It's still on my mind when I get home that night. "She probably doesn't feel well," Hermione says reasonably. "Lots of women don't during the first few months."

Come to think of it, I remember Bill saying he had to do all the cooking when Fleur was pregnant because the smell of food made her ill. "That could be it," I say, feeling relieved. "Perdita always gets a bit cross when she hasn't eaten."

"Sounds like you," Hermione says, but she smiles at me. "How was Hogwarts?"

"Okay," I say. "They put me on the greenhouses, luckily, so I didn't have to worry about Ravenclaw Tower." I shift a little on the sofa, trying to avoid a broken spring. The sofa – like all of the furniture that came with this flat – has definitely seen better days.

"How's Professor Sprout?" Hermione asks. "I hate to say it, but she looked so old at the wedding that I hardly recognized her."

"Well, she _is_ old," I point out. "I think she'd sort of like to retire, but she won't. She says Hogwarts is so damp that it's bad for her sciatica – but she can't bear the thought of leaving all her precious plants to someone who might not feel the same way she does about them."

"Hmm," Hermione says thoughtfully.

I know that look. "What?" I ask, but she shakes her head.

"Just an idea," she says, meaning she'll tell me when she's good and ready.

"Tell me about your day," I say, giving up and changing the subject. "Any luck getting that meeting with St. Mungo's?"

Hermione brightens. "The Administrative Board's agreed to hear the petition again at their monthly meeting tomorrow," she says.

Hermione's spent most of the past year working to get that Anti-Werewolf Legislation of Umbridge's repealed. The sticking point is that no one actually wanted to hire werewolves in the first place because – well, because they're _werewolves_. But Hermione came up with the idea of handing out free Wolfsbane. St. Mungo's turned her down the first time – it's bloody expensive, Wolfsbane – but Harry and Andromeda Tonks and a few other people agreed to back the project and now Hermione's having another go with the Board.

"It would be easier if the Board members were all Healers," Hermione says. "But only about half of them are. I'm not sure the others quite understand the effects of the Potion."

"What's to understand?" I say. "It makes them not want to rip people's throats out. End of story."

Hermione laughs. "When you put it like that, I suppose it's simple enough," she says.

She worries about little things too much. "Who are they if they're not Healers?" I ask. "The Board members, I mean?"

"All sorts of people," Hermione says. "Mostly ones who've contributed lots of gold to St. Mungo's. Some are retired, but a good many of them don't seem to have regular jobs at all. I suppose it's a way to keep busy."

Sounds bloody boring to me, but okay. "If anyone can talk them into it, you can," I say, putting my arm around her.

"I hope so," Hermione says fervently. "Just think what a difference it would make in their lives. I keep remembering poor Remus – he could never find work and he was so worried about not being able to provide for Tonks…"

The thing is, I'm not so sure people are going to hire werewolves even if they do promise to take Wolfsbane. I mean, it'd be one thing with a bloke like Remus, but the ones like Greyback are another story. I don't say so, though. Hermione's worked so hard on this project that I don't want to discourage her. Anyway, she's right – Wolfsbane ought to be available to anyone who wants it. "You've done a brilliant job on this," I say, kissing her. "I'm proud of you, Hermione – Remus would be, too."

"It hasn't been approved yet," Hermione says, but she looks pleased.

"Who's going with you?" I ask. "Andromeda?"

Hermione shakes her head. "It's got to be someone from senior staff," she explains. "Basil Sedgewick's going with me, but he promised to let me do all the talking."

"Basil Sedgewick?" I repeat. The name sounds sort of familiar, but I can't think why.

"He's just been appointed to the Wizengamut," Hermione explains. "It was a bit of a surprise, actually – they don't usually elect anyone that young – but…" Her voice trails off.

"But what?" I ask.

"I think he's rather well-connected," Hermione says reluctantly. "Not that he isn't qualified, of course, but…"

"Oh, that one," I say, remembering. "He's the one that ignored you till he saw Kingsley speak to you one day, and then he was all over you. Sounds like a prat to me."

"He _is_ a prat," Hermione agrees with a sigh. "But he got us into this meeting and that's all I care about."

She leans her head against my shoulder and I pull her a bit closer. This is my favorite time of the day – when Hermione and I cuddle up on our lumpy sofa with a glass of wine and catch up on each other's days. Only I can't quite relax tonight. Perdita's still on my mind.

"Why would she say 'not now' like that?" I say aloud.

"What?" Hermione says, raising her head from my shoulder.

"Perdita," I explain. "I asked if she was pleased and she said she would have been, only not now." I sit straight and look at her. "It almost sounds as though something's happened, doesn't it? And she looks awful – circles under her eyes and – "

"Ron, I'm sure there's a simple explanation for all of this," Hermione says. "She might just be worried because she won't be able to work for very much longer."

"They don't need the gold," I argue, stretching out with my head on her lap. "Marvin's a Healer; he makes loads."

"Money isn't the only reason for working," Hermione says. "There's – there's personal fulfillment."

"Perdita ought to be plenty fulfilled by now," I say, wondering if Hermione's talking about herself. "She's been in just about every tight spot you could imagine."

Hermione strokes my hair. "I'm sure she'll be all right," she says. "If it'll make you feel better, I can try to have a word with Marvin after the meeting tomorrow. Am I supposed to know Perdita's pregnant?"

"She didn't want anyone at the Auror Office to know, but she probably wouldn't mind you," I say, a little doubtfully. Perdita and Hermione are good friends – or they were. Lately Perdita doesn't seem like she wants to be anyone's friend. "Mind you ditch Sedgewick first, though."

"If he follows me I'll say I want to consult a Healer about a female problem," Hermione says calmly. "That ought to get rid of him."

"It'd get rid of me," I say. "Can you have lunch with me tomorrow? I've got to turn in my report on Hogwarts and then meet with Gawain, but I should be finished by noon."

"I'll be back long before that," Hermione says. "Come over to my office when you're ready. Do you want to eat at the Ministry Café?"

"The hell with that place," I say. "We're celebrating your success with the Wolfsbane Project, aren't we? I'll take you out somewhere nice."

"We don't know if it's going to be a success yet," Hermione reminds me again.

"It isn't going to cost them a Knut," I say. "Why wouldn't they say yes? Stop worrying, Hermione. It's going to be just fine."

**Hermione**

Despite Ron's words of encouragement, I was a bit nervous about this meeting. But it all went far better than I could have hoped. Andromeda's patronage helped a good deal, of course. St. Mungo's couldn't very well quibble about losing money by giving away potions when they're getting the ingredients for free. The Remus Lupin Foundation – mostly Harry and Andromeda, but lots of people have contributed – is going to pay for everything except the Healers' time, and they've all agreed to volunteer that.

I listen, scarcely daring to breathe, as Healer Bainbridge reads our latest proposal aloud. He's an extremely elderly wizard – a retired Healer - and his quavering voice is difficult to hear at times. Oh dear, I hope they're taking it all in. There's silence when he finishes, but I see several of the Board members nod approvingly at each other. They all seem agreeable – all except for a middle-aged wizard in dark green robes. He hasn't said anything, but I saw him roll his eyes when Healer Bainbridge began speaking.

Healer Bainbridge sets the proposal down and peers at me over his glasses. "Am I to understand that this – er –" he glances down at the proposal again – "Remus Lupin Foundation will bear one-hundred percent of the expenses associated with the production of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Yes," I say. "The Foundation will also handle the cost of promoting the program to the werewolf community."

"Well, let's put it to a vote, then," Healer Bainbridge says. "All in favor?"

I watch, scarcely daring to breathe, as nearly every hand goes up. The wizard in dark green is the only abstainer.

"Opposed?" Healer Bainbridge asks, and a lone dark green sleeve is upraised. Healer Bainbridge peers at it for a moment, then turns to me.

"With the change in circumstances, St. Mungo's is willing to give the Department of Magical Law our unconditional support on this project," he says, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

I'm vaguely aware of the door opening behind me and someone coming in, but I'm too intent on Healer Bainbridge to bother turning around, even though the people nearest me are muttering and staring – presumably because whoever-it-is is so late. _Really, why bother coming at all?_ I think. _The meeting's nearly over._ There are no places left at the table, so the latecomer takes a seat against the wall, directly behind me.

"I see that Healer McGillicuddy and Healer Pye have volunteered to coordinate the distribution efforts," Healer Bainbridge says, adjusting his glasses and peering down at his notes. "Now, if there's nothing else on the agenda…"

Marvin smiles at me from across the table. I knew he'd be willing to help, of course. Arthur was the one who suggested Augustus Pye. "You remember him from when I was in hospital, don't you, Hermione?" he'd said. "Very nice chap – and awfully sympathetic toward that poor bloke next to me who'd been bitten by a werewolf, remember?"

What I chiefly remember about that time was my own desperate determination to get to Ron once I found out what had happened to his father. Of course, everything was all right by the time I got there, but I've still always been glad I came.

I realize Healer Bainbridge is speaking to me and drag my mind away from my own thoughts. "St. Mungo's would like to commend you for your efforts, Miss – er – Weasley," he says, glancing at his notes again. He looks up. "I was at school with a Septimus Weasley," he says. "Any relation?"

"My husband's grandfather," I say, careful to speak clearly. He's already told several people to stop mumbling.

The witch next to Healer Bainbridge leans over and whispers something. "Oh," Healer Bainbridge says, looking at me with renewed interest. "You're _that_ one, are you?

I never know what to do when people say things like that. Healer Bainbridge doesn't seem to expect an answer, though.

"This program should be very beneficial indeed for the werewolf population," he says, nodding at me.

"If any of them bother to take advantage of it," a low voice says from just behind me.

I glance around indignantly and meet a familiar pair of mocking grey eyes. What the hell is Lucius Malfoy doing here? His lip curls as he looks me over and then turns away dismissively.

"Well done," Basil Sedgewick says loudly, flashing me his rather insincere smile. "I think Healer Bainbridge may also have been at Hogwarts with my great-uncle – excuse me, won't you?" And he's off.

I look over to where Malfoy was sitting, but of course he's gone. Damn Basil for distracting me. I hurry out to the corridor, just in time to see him disappearing around the corner.

"I can see it was high time I returned," he's saying. "Evidently the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers have taken over the Ministry."

His companion – the wizard in the dark green robes who voted against me– mumbles something I can't hear, and Malfoy laughs scornfully. Then they're gone.

I hate Lucius Malfoy. Why didn't he stay in bloody New Zealand?

Marvin comes out, spots me, and hurries over. "Nicely done," he says, shaking hands warmly. "Any idea when we'll be able to get started?"

"Straight away, I should think," I say. "The ingredients have already been delivered to the lab here at St. Mungo's. Just send an owl to Neville Longbottom when you start to run short. Oh, and a Healer called Michael Corner's going to take charge of brewing the Potion."

"I think I know him," Marvin says. "Just qualified, didn't he?"

I nod. "And I'll handle the publicity end," I add. Xenophilus Lovegood has already promised to give it a nice write-up in _The Quibbler _– although I'm a bit worried about what his idea of "a nice write-up" might be. Maybe I ought to ask him to let me see the copy first. And surely the _Prophet_'ll run my press release. Maybe I ought to hand-deliver it, just to be sure. And George promised to ask Lee Jordan to mention it on his radio show…

"Excellent," Marvin says. "I meant to ask you about all this at dinner, but we never got round to that, did we? Sorry we had to cancel at such short notice – Perdita wasn't feeling well."

"We didn't get a chance to talk at the wedding, either," I say. "Ron and I looked for you, but we couldn't find you."

Marvin looks slightly embarrassed. "We left early," he says. "Perdita – well – "

"First pregnancies can be difficult," I say gently.

"You know, then," Marvin says, relieved. "She didn't want me to tell anyone – I don't know why."

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to know, either," I admit. "But she told Ron yesterday. Marvin, she's all right, isn't she?"

Marvin sighs. "Perdita's what you call a high-risk pregnancy," he explains. "It's because she's been cursed so many times, being an Auror."

I can't help feeling a bit uneasy. I've been cursed a fair bit myself, between Bellatrix Lestrange torturing me and Dolohov hitting me with whatever that was back in fifth year. "I never knew that made a difference," I say carefully.

"It shouldn't, if she behaves herself," Marvin says, smiling at me. "She has to be careful with transportation, of course – no Portkeys or Apparating, but she can Floo if she doesn't go too fast – and she may have to be on bed rest near the end, but there's no reason she shouldn't have a normal, healthy pregnancy." He looks suddenly worried. "She doesn't see it that way, of course."

So that's what's wrong with her. Poor Perdita – it all makes sense now. I'll have to be sure to tell Ron to back off a bit.

"Hermione, I wish you'd stop in to see her," Marvin says suddenly. "She needs another woman to talk to, and her family – well, she doesn't have much contact with them."

She doesn't have _any_ contact with them from what Ron told me, but I have a feeling that was another thing I'm not supposed to know. "Of course I will," I assure him. I hesitate and then blurt out, "Marvin, what was Lucius Malfoy doing in that meeting?"

"He's on the Board – officially, that is," Marvin says. "Bit of a shock when he strolled in like that, wasn't it? I don't suppose he's been to a meeting in years."

Oh, _wait_ till I tell Ron. I look at my watch. I'd better hurry if I'm going to have time to write up a report of the Board meeting before our lunch date.

"Thanks for everything," I say to Marvin. "I'll be in touch – and I promise I'll try to talk to Perdita."

I'm only halfway through writing up the minutes when Basil appears. "You needn't bother," he says, looking over my shoulder. "I popped in to see the Minister on my way back."

"I wanted to tell him myself," I protest, annoyed.

Basil, to my further annoyance, perches on the edge of my desk. "We're all a team here, Hermione," he says chidingly.

_Yes, and your contribution has been_ what, _exactly?_ I think, but I don't bother saying it. Kingsley knows perfectly well who did all the work. "I think I'd better write it up anyway," I say stubbornly. "It's always best to keep a record."

Basil shrugs. "You look very nice today," he says, changing tack abruptly. "New robes? Or have you changed your hair?"

Oh, please. I really hope he's not going to start flirting with me. Right on cue, Ron appears. His eyes narrow at once at the sight of Basil, even though he sits on Perdita's desk all the time.

"You've met my husband, haven't you, Basil?" I say sweetly.

Basil takes one look at Ron and hastily scrambles off my desk. "Er, hello," he says, sounding a bit less confident than usual.

I glance at Ron, amused to see he's wearing what I privately think of as his "Viktor Krum expression." It's discouraged braver men than Basil. "Ron Weasley," he says briefly, shaking Basil's proffered hand and then dropping it immediately. He turns to me. "Ready to go, love?"

"Off to lunch, are you?" Basil says, backing away. "Well, enjoy!"

**Ron**

Prat. I knew I didn't like Sedgewick. Let him go sit on his own desk – preferably on something sharp. Things must have gone well at St. Mungo's if he's hanging all over Hermione like that.

Hermione squeezes my arm and smiles up at me. "Well?" I ask. "It passed, right?"

"Yes," Hermione says. "The Board's agreed, and we can begin distributing the Wolfsbane as soon as Michael has an adequate supply ready."

"I knew you'd do brilliantly," I say, hugging her against my side. She doesn't look as happy as I thought she would, though. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased."

"I am," Hermione says. "Only – _Muffliato_ - well, Lucius Malfoy showed up halfway through. You don't suppose he'll do something to ruin the project, do you?"

What the hell was Malfoy doing there? And don't tell me Gawain didn't know – we've had teams watching them round the clock ever since they got here. Why the hell didn't he warn me? I'd never have let Hermione go on her own if I'd thought – oh. Probably that's why he didn't tell me.

"Hang on, " I say, drawing Hermione into an unoccupied conference room and doing a quick Soundproofing Charm. (It's a lot stronger than _Muffliato_, but not much good in a crowd.) "Start at the beginning and tell me the whole thing."

She does. "And when he was leaving, I heard him tell another man that it was high time he came back because the M-Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers were controlling everything," she finishes.

Damn Malfoy, anyway. I put both arms around her. "Don't worry," I say. "The Aurors are watching him. He's not going to get away with making any trouble."

Hermione's silent. "You're not going to let what he said bother you, are you?" I say.

"No," Hermione says. "That's what he wants, isn't it? Only – well, I'd rather hoped that sort of prejudice was starting to go away."

"You," I tell her, "are the most beautiful, clever witch in the world, and Lucius Malfoy is a - "

"Yes, he is," Hermione says, cutting me off before I can say it. "Are you going to tell Gawain about him coming to the Board meeting?"

"I'll tell him, but I bet he already knows," I say. "We've had people tailing all three of them since they came back."

Hermione frowns. "Who was the man in dark green robes?"

"Describe him," I say, but when she does I don't recognize him.

"I'll tell Gawain about him, too," I say finally. "Now, where do you want to go for lunch? That fancy French place?" I'm not exactly a big fan of foreign food – I like to know what I'm eating - but Hermione likes it and she's had a big morning. I reckon I can choke it down.

"I won't put you through that," Hermione says, smiling at me. "Let's go to the Leaky Cauldron. If Neville's there, I can give him the good news."

When is Neville ever not there? It beats me how he ever managed to find time to pass his Advanced Herbology classes when he seems to spend most of his waking hours sitting at the bar gazing at Hannah. He's there today, as well, but he hurries over to our table when we wave to him.

"That's brilliant," he says happily, when Hermione gives him the good news. "I'll owl Michael right away and make sure he's got enough of everything to be getting on." He hurries off – stopping at the bar to tell Hannah, of course.

Hermione smiles at me. "How was your morning?" she asks. "Anything you can talk about?"

After the morning Hermione's put in, it's a bit embarrassing to tell her that Gawain and I actually spent most of the morning playing chess. It's not like we do it a lot (or _ever_, before today), but he had the board sitting on his desk when I went in there this morning – and it was his idea. He's pretty good, too. I beat him, of course, but he nearly got me on the second game. It wasn't as much fun as playing with Harry or Hermione, but that's because of how Gawain is. He kept going on about chess terms and the names of different strategies. I felt like I was playing with McGonagall or someone, only I reckon even McGonagall knows how to loosen up and have a bit of fun.

"I can't talk about it here," I say evasively. "I'll be a bit late tonight, by the way – around half-six or seven."

Two o'clock is when I'm due to relieve Jackson. He's been keeping watch on Draco Malfoy – code name Ferret. (My idea, inspired by one of my favorite Hogwarts memories.) I'm only on till six, and then O'Connor's supposed to relieve me.

"This is a temporary assignment," Gawain told me. "When Harry returns, he'll take over the watch."

Fine by me. I don't mind surveillance work when the subjects are actually doing something, but Jackson told me yesterday that "Ferret" hasn't left the house since they came back from New Zealand. And Gawain's only putting one Auror at a time on him (Lucius has got two) because so far they don't have any reason to suspect him of anything, so I won't even have Perdita's company – such as it's been lately.

"Oh yeah," I say to Hermione. "Did you get a chance to talk to Marvin?"

Hermione waits for the waitress to set our plates down before she answers. "He said she's a high-risk pregnancy," she answers. "Did you know she's not even allowed to Apparate?"

She's not? "That explains why she didn't want to come to Hogwarts yesterday," I say. "Would've been dead obvious if she'd had to have the Floo Network people set something up, wouldn't it?"

"I promised Marvin I'd try to talk to her," Hermione says. "He thinks she's just a bit anxious about things going right – so try to be sensitive when you see her, all right?"

"When am I ever not sensitive?" I say, feeling vaguely insulted.

Hermione rolls her eyes at me. "Just be nice," she says firmly. "And it's probably not a good idea to mention that Marvin and I talked about her."

**Harry**

"This," I say to Ginny, "has been the most perfect week of my entire life so far. Nothing that comes afterwards is ever going to top it."

"Oh, yes it will," Ginny says, smiling back. "We have the rest of our lives to try."

I pull her close. It really _has_ been perfect, even with the persistent cloud of reporters hovering like midges everywhere we go. They haven't been allowed into the resort itself, but they've flown over on brooms as closely as they dared, and one enterprising bloke hung off this broomstick by his feet so he could get a photograph. "He almost deserves it, working so hard," Ginny had said, but she's not so forgiving today when she opens the _Prophet_ to find a picture of us in bathing suits on page two.

"_'Harry and Ginny's Secret Hideaway'_," she reads aloud, looking half-amused, half-disgusted. "Honestly, who _writes_ this stuff? And I wish they'd taken this picture a few days earlier, before I got all these freckles."

She does have a fresh dusting of freckles on her nose and across her shoulders, despite frequent applications of both the Sunblocking Charm and Tropical Witch Sunblock Cream, but I think she looks cute.

"You, on the other hand," Ginny continues, "look like a magazine advertisement. I never saw such a perfect tan."

"Sorry," I say, grinning at her. "Do you want a divorce now?"

Ginny tosses the newspaper aside and launches herself at me. "I take it back!" I say, laughing. I pull her close. "Wish we didn't have to leave today."

"Me too," Ginny says with a sigh. "Only I've got to report back to the Harpies tomorrow, and you've got to report back to the Aurors." She lifts her head from my shoulder and looks at me mischievously. "And despite what you say, I'll bet you're secretly longing to find out what the Malfoys are up to."

I mumble a denial, but it's sort of true. Only sort of, though. There's definitely a part of me that would like nothing better than to stay on indefinitely in this tropical paradise with Ginny, but the other – the Auror part – has been wondering off and on just what Gawain's managed to turn up on Lucius so far. "We'd better pack," I say. "We've got to check out by noon."

Grimmauld Place is nothing like it was five years ago, and it actually feels like a real homecoming, with Kreacher bowing repeatedly and Winky hovering in the background beaming at us. The new furnishings helped, of course, but it's Ginny who's made the difference.

"Come in the dining room for a minute," I say, taking her hand. "I want to show you something."

Ginny's eyes widen when she sees the portrait. "It's lovely," she whispers. "Did Dean paint it?"

I nod, tugging her closer. "Mum, Dad," I say. "This is Ginny – my wife."

They're still apparently incapable of speech, but their smiles widen. Sirius and Remus grin knowingly at each other, making me wonder if my feelings for Ginny were obvious to them even before I'd quite realized it myself.

"Kreacher is wondering if his master and mistress will be home for dinner," Kreacher says from behind us.

I look at Ginny. "You don't feel like going out, do you?"

"No one knows we're home yet," Ginny says, slipping an arm around my waist. "Let's keep it that way."

We have a peaceful evening, but we're back to reality the next morning. Several owls are already clustered on the window sill as we enter the dining room for breakfast.

"Master has post," Kreacher says observantly.

"Let 'em in, Kreacher," I say with a groan.

Ginny's got nearly as much post as I do, and we're quiet for several minutes as we sort through it. "Most of them are – well, I suppose they're fan letters," Ginny says, looking up. "People wanting to congratulate us on our marriage – it's very sweet, actually."

"If a bit unnerving, seeing as we don't actually know them," I say, and Ginny laughs.

"Here's one for you," she says, handing me a thick envelope.

I recognize the letterhead at once. "The Chocolate Frog people," I say. "Looks like they want to update the personal information on my card… _'In light of your recent marriage, please fill in the space below with your spouse's name and occupation' _– like they don't already know." I read further. "_'We have enclosed a complementary set of this season's new Chocolate Frog cards…' _– hey, Ron and Hermione should be in this series!"

Ginny moves closer as I pull out the packet of cards. "Here we are," she says eagerly. "This is Ron's – quite a good picture of him – and here's Hermione. That's very nice of her as well."

I take the cards as she finishes with them. Ron and Hermione look back at me, waving. "The Chocolate Frog people did a good job on these," I say. "Ron's going to be ecstatic – he's been talking about this for weeks. Dunno about Hermione, though. She went along with it, but I think it was only because Ron wanted it so much. She likes her privacy."

"At least they used her maiden name," Ginny says, taking the Hermione card back and patting it reassuringly. "Although you can bet my brother is _not_ going to be pleased about that!"

Ron's reaction is exactly as Ginny predicted when I run into him and Hermione in the corridor at the Ministry a few hours later. "They've put the wrong name on Hermione's," he says, once they've both welcomed me back and asked about my holiday. "But they look brilliant anyway."

"It's not _wrong_," Hermione says calmly. "It was my name at the time that I did all of these things. And it says on the back that I'm married to you."

I get the distinct impression that they've had this conversation more than once this morning. "It's better for Hermione this way," I say hastily to Ron. "This way she won't be bothered by reporters and all."

"Exactly," Hermione says, throwing me a grateful look. "Well, I'd better be going. Lovely to have you back, Harry!" She blows Ron a kiss and hurries off, already undoing an enormous carry-bag and pulling out a clipboard as she goes.

Gawain's hovering as we enter the Auror Department. "I need to see you in my office," he says to me, cutting off several people who've started to offer their congratulations. "Immediately."

Ron looks puzzled. "I thought he'd want us to brief you on the Malfoys," he says in a low voice.

_I thought so, too,_ I think, hurrying after Gawain. But his first words drive the Malfoy family completely from my mind.

"We have a problem," he says. "I have reason to believe that Harris has been gotten to."

"Bloody hell," I say, dropping weakly into a chair. Harris was the key to the whole thing. "Do we know who it was?"

Gawain shakes his head irritably. "The usual people, I suspect," he says. "It doesn't matter _who_ – it just means that he's of no use to us."

"So the project's off, then," I say heavily.

Gawain picks up a chess piece from the corner of his desk, turning it over in his hands. "Not necessarily," he says.

"You can't mean to still use him!" I protest. "Unless – unless you've got someone else in mind. But they're expecting Harris – if we change it now, won't they be suspicious?"

"It would raise questions," Gawain admits. "Which is why we shall let them think that the wizard in question is Harris. Only you and I – and the substitute, of course – will know differently."

I think about it. "It'll mean a hell of a lot of Polyjuice Potion for someone," I say slowly, but it's definitely doable. Look how long Barty Crouch pulled it off. "And what are you going to do with the real Harris?" We can't exactly lock him in a trunk like Crouch did with Mad-Eye.

"He will be detained," Gawain says coolly.

Ah. Apparently we can.

"We haven't much time," Gawain continues, still toying with the chess piece. It's a knight, I notice irrelevantly. "The substitute will have to be fully briefed. I intend to train him myself."

Damned right we haven't much time – only a little over a week. "Who were you thinking of using?" I asked, hoping very much that he's already arranged for someone. I run my mind over the Aurors in the department, trying to think if there's anyone who fits the qualifications, but I keep coming up blank.

Gawain sets the knight down and looks at me, seeming uncomfortable for the first time. "There's only one person we can use on such short notice," he says finally. "And I'm going to need your help in convincing him to do it."

**Ron**

Jackson's done a pretty good Disillusionment Charm, but I know where he usually sits on the wall outside Malfoy Manor and I don't have any trouble finding him.

"I very nearly fell asleep," he says, once we've identified ourselves using our coded questions. "Fang's been a busy boy, trotting off to meetings, and even Ice manages to drag herself to Diagon Alley for new robes every couple of days, but our boy Ferret's still holed up in there."

Fang and Ice are Lucius and Narcissa. "He's definitely still in there?" I ask. "Hasn't managed to give you the slip, has he?"

Jackson shakes his head. "I check on him every half hour or so," he says. "He never leaves his bedroom unless Fang goes out. Then he generally moons about in the sitting room for a bit. He joins his parents for dinner every night. That's it. No visitors – no owls, even."

"Maybe he wanted to stay in New Zealand," I say.

"Wish he had," Jackson says. "If he's not going to do anything interesting he might just as well have stayed put and raised sheep or whatever it was they did there."

"It wasn't sheep," I say. "It was albino peacocks, like those there." I point down to several birds that are glaring at us malevolently from the yard below.

Jackson shudders. "_Those_ bloody things," he says. "What the hell would anyone want to breed them for? One of them came strolling along the wall, _hissing_ at me this morning – it nearly gave me a heart attack!"

I choke back a laugh. "What'd you do?" I ask. "Stun it?"

"We're not allowed to Stun them," Jackson says resentfully. "I got the hell off the wall in a hurry, that's what I did. And you won't be laughing when it happens to you!"

I look dubiously down at the peacocks. They don't exactly look friendly.

"Still, it broke up the monotony for a bit," Jackson says, swinging down from the wall. "I'm off – try to stay awake!"

I take his place, making sure my Disillusionment Charm and disguise are both firmly in place. Since the Malfoys know who I am, I thought I'd be safer if I didn't look quite so much like myself. The Department has a couple of Invisibility Cloaks (nothing as good as Harry's but they're not bad), but someone else has always requisitioned them whenever I ask, so I've had to do the best I can on my own. I have blond hair today (in honor of the Malfoys) and a long blond mustache that I'm already regretting because it keeps getting in my mouth.

The minutes tick by slowly. Jackson was right; this is bloody boring. Even the peacocks have wandered off, although I'm not exactly fussed about that. Maybe I'd better have a look-in at the Ferret; see if he's still sulking in his bedroom…

I've just lowered myself from the wall when the front door opens. Oh, brilliant! Good boy, Ferret, let's go somewhere – anywhere.

Hell. He's going to Disapparate. I've just pulled out my wand to send off a Patronus – maybe I can get a trace authorized, although it's not likely – when the door opens again.

"Draco?" a woman's voice calls. "Where are you going?"

_Thank you, Narcissa, for being the world's second-most overprotective mother._ I edge slightly closer so I don't miss his answer.

"Nowhere," Draco says sulkily. "Just Diagon Alley."

"Good," Narcissa says, pleased. "You can stop in and give Madam Malkin a message for me. The trim on my new robes was supposed to be one-half inch of Brussels lace, and it's only a quarter. In fact, I think you'd better return them and tell her they're completely unacceptable. Wait right here and I'll get them for you."

"Mother, I don't want to be bothered with that – " Draco begins, but Narcissa's already disappeared into the house. Draco swears under his breath and kicks at the lawn sulkily. I sort of don't blame him – it's even worse than having to pick up Hermione's bridesmaid's dress.

Narcissa's back. "Here you are," she says, handing over a bag with Madam Malkin's insignia on it. "Tell her I'll be in first thing tomorrow, and I expect to see that trim replaced. And have a lovely time, darling!"

Draco mumbles a reply and Disapparates. Well, at least I know where he's going. I follow.

I catch up with him easily at the Leaky Cauldron. Neville and Hannah both watch open-mouthed as he strides through the pub without looking in either direction. I slip through the opening into Diagon Alley just behind him.

Diagon Alley's packed – all those kids getting ready to go back to Hogwarts next week – and I have to remove the Disillusionment Charm after a few near misses with pedestrians. Harry's good at dodging people when he's invisible, but I always forget they can't see me. And Malfoy's not making it easy. He doesn't seem to have a destination – he's just wandering aimlessly.

He hesitates at the entrance to Knockturn Alley and I wait hopefully, but he turns away abruptly and stares into a window display of dragon-hide boots. I hang back, pretending to be interested in the shop next door, but he just stands there for several minutes. Well, damn. Are we just going to window shop?

_Come on, Ferret,_ I say silently. _What did you come here for?_

Malfoy finally turns with a sigh. Looks like he's going to Madam Malkin's. I give him a few minutes and then go in. Malfoy's talking to Madam Malkin – doesn't look too pleased, does she? – so I wander about, pretending to look at the robes on display. Looks like they've added a new section of lingerie. Ron Weasley would be totally embarrassed to be seen browsing through it, but Blond-Mustached-Man doesn't care. No one's ever seen him before and they'll likely never see him again – this mustache is seriously getting on my nerves. I pick out a red silky thing and hold it up appraisingly. This would look seriously good on Hermione. Her idea of dressing sexy used to be leaving the top button of her blouse undone, but she's loosened up considerably since we got married.

A shop assistant comes over to me. "That's lovely," she says approvingly. She glances down at my left hand. "For your wife?"

Just because I'm willing to buy this stuff doesn't mean I want to talk about it. I look over my shoulder, but Malfoy's still arguing with Madam Malkin. "I'll take it," I say hastily, reaching for my money bag.

Malfoy comes out of the shop just after me, looking both annoyed and relieved. I'm guessing that didn't go too well. Now he's just standing around again. He glances in my direction and I pretend to be looking in Madam Malkin's window. _Go on, Ferret, go back to Knockturn Alley,_ I think.

"Draco Malfoy, is that you?" a shrill voice says.

Pansy Parkinson – don't tell me he came here to meet _her_. But he doesn't look any more pleased to see her than I am. "Hello, Pansy," he says coldly.

Pansy's nattering on about how long it's been, and about who got married and who's dating each other, but I can tell Malfoy's not listening. Pansy grabs his arm and he looks down at her, seeming almost startled that she's still there.

"You really ought to join us," she says, simpering. "Do say you'll come, Draco!"

"Where?" Malfoy asks.

Pansy pouts – not a good look for her. "Weren't you listening?" she demands. "To the party, of course! It's in honor of Daphne Greengrass and Jeremy Gamp. They've just announced their engagement."

"Who's Jeremy Gamp?" Malfoy asks.

"Daphne's fiancé, of course," Pansy says. "He's been living in France for the past several years, but the family's perfectly _all right_."

Purebloods, she means. Gamp – that's Perdita's lot. I wonder if she's related to this Jeremy.

"Anyway, he and Daphne met when she was on holiday in Paris last year, and it was love at first sight," Pansy babbles. "Awfully romantic, don't you think?"

Malfoy shrugs. "If I don't know him, I don't think I ought to come to his engagement party," he says flatly.

"Silly!" Pansy says. "You're an old friend of Daphne's, aren't you? And I expect you'll know most of the others. Some are a few years younger than we are, of course, like Daphne's sister Astoria – I don't suppose you remember her."

Malfoy looks interested for the first time. "I remember Astoria," he says.

Well, well. Ferret's got a crush on someone. Only who the hell is Astoria?

"Do say you'll come," Pansy repeats, either not noticing or not caring.

"Is it at your house?" Malfoy asks.

"No, it's at the Black Pearl," Pansy says. "It's a private club – members only, you know. We really had to do _something_ – all of the other places let in all sorts of riff-raff these days." She scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to him. "Here's the address. Just tell them at the door that you're a guest of Miss Parkinson's."

"I – well, all right," Malfoy says slowly.

Pansy beams. "Lovely! Around eight o'clock, then?"

_Lovely,_ I repeat to myself. I've heard about the Black Pearl. Their "members only" policy is code for "purebloods only", but no half-bloods or Muggle-borns have complained because the members aren't the sort of people anyone with sense wants to hang around with anyway. Pansy's father owns the building, and they check everyone at the door. Gawain seems to know everything that happens inside, though – I'm pretty sure one of their waiters is an Auror.

Malfoy turns and heads into a nearby stationer's – probably to pick out a card or something for Daphne. I wait till I see him absorbed near one of the racks and then duck into an alley to send off a Patronus asking for back-up. Hopefully Gawain'll authorize the overtime for me – I want to be in on this. And the extra gold wouldn't hurt, either. I remember I was supposed to be home at half-past six and send off a second Patronus telling Hermione not to wait up. "Unless you want to," I add, looking regretfully at the bag holding the red nightie.

I keep Malfoy in sight while I wait for the other Auror to show up. I'm expecting Jackson, so I'm surprised when Perdita strolls up. "Nice mustache," she says, grinning at me.

Perdita can always recognize me, even when I think I've done a pretty good job disguising myself. "I'm sort of regretting it now," I say, relieved that she seems to be in a good mood.

Perdita glances at the bag in my hand. "Doing a bit of shopping?"

"I had to buy something," I say defensively. "It was part of my cover."

"I'm sure this'll be lovely on you," Perdita says, snatching the bag from my hand and peering into it. She grins at me. "But I never thought red was your color."

"Shut up," I say, grabbing it back. I fold the bag in half and manage to stuff it into my pocket. "How'd you get here so fast, anyway? I thought you weren't supposed to Apparate."

Perdita's eyes narrow. "Been talking to Marvin, have you?"

"No," I lie. "I – er – I thought all pregnant women weren't supposed to Apparate. I'm pretty sure Fleur didn't – you know, my sister-in-law. Or maybe she did. She's part veela though, maybe that makes a difference – " I'm getting in deeper with every word.

"There's Jackson," Perdita says, glancing past me at someone. "He'll take over the Ferret watch for you. You and I are going to a party."

She doesn't have much to say as we make our way to the Black Pearl. It's down a side street at the far end of Diagon Alley. We stop in an alley to do Disillusionment Charms before we turn down there.

"Hathaway's going to meet us round the back," Perdita whispers. "He's undercover as a waiter in there – he'll get us in."

I _knew_ someone was a waiter. "Exactly whose engagement are we celebrating tonight, anyway?" Perdita's asking.

"Didn't I say?" I answer. "Daphne Greengrass – she's a cow; I was at school with her – is marrying some bloke called Jeremy Gamp."

Perdita goes very still. "What?" she whispers.

I remember about the Gamp connection. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Do you know him? He's not your cousin or something, is he?"

"Yes, I know him," Perdita hisses. Her face is chalk-white. "And he's not my cousin. He's my brother." She's glaring at me again. "How could you do this to me? I _told_ you about my family!"

"But there're millions of Gamps," I start, but it's too late. She's already Disapparated. 

**Harry**

I'm not as eager to get home as I'd expected to be after my first day back. I'm worn out from arguing with Gawain, and now I have to face Ginny without giving anything away. I've had a lot of practice at keeping things to myself, but this - well, this is big. And there's so much I can't tell her - so much I can't tell anyone…

"I realize things may be a bit difficult for you in the upcoming months," Gawain said, in what had to be the understatement of the decade. "You must try to separate your life as an Auror from your personal life."

Easy for him to say. As far as I know, Gawain has no personal life. _Maybe that's why,_ I think now, letting myself in the front door.

Ginny's nowhere to be seen, but her broom's next to the coat rack. I start up the stairs to the drawing room.

"Welcome home, Master," Kreacher says from just behind me.

I really wish he wouldn't sneak up on me like that. "Hi Kreacher," I say, recovering. "Where's Ginny?"

"Mistress is taking a hot bath," Kreacher says. "All worn out from her hard day, she is - Kreacher's poor mistress, having to work so hard…"

There's a definite note of reproach in his voice. "Ginny _likes_ playing Quidditch," I say, feeling slightly defensive. Does Kreacher think I'm forcing her? "It's what she does."

"When the babies start to come, Mistress will have to stop that nonsense," Kreacher says to the coat rack. He eyes me speculatively and I wonder if he's expecting me to get started on producing them straight away.

"Right," I say. "I'll just go up and see her."

Kreacher looks pleased and retreats to the kitchen. I've just started up the stairs again when I hear Ron's voice. I was actually relieved that he was off doing surveillance when I came out of Gawain's office today, but it looks as though I've got to face him after all.

"Not one word," Gawain warned me before I left - like I needed to hear it again.

"Not one word," I'd agreed.

I pull my half of Aberforth's mirror from my pocket. Ab told us we might just as well hang on to them. "What would I want to get in touch with either of _you_ for?" he'd grumbled, but I know him well enough not to have taken offense. Hermione bound the edges for us, so the pieces wouldn't crack.

"What's wrong?" I say into the mirror. I peer more closely. It sounds like Ron, but I can hardly see his outline. He must be under a Disillusionment Charm.

"Harry, I need you to come to Diagon Alley straightaway," Ron says breathlessly. "I was tailing Draco Malfoy and - just come, can't you? I'll explain it all when you get here. Oh, and bring your Invisibility Cloak."

"I'll be right there," I say, swallowing the dozen questions that have popped into my mind. And then I go up the stairs to tell Ginny I won't be home for dinner.

"Sorry to drag you out on your first night home," Ron says when I arrive. I can see him a bit better now, but he definitely looks strange. Must be one of his disguises. "Reckon Ginny might as well get used to it, though."

"What's going on?" I ask. "Where's Malfoy?"

"Jackson's on him for now," Ron answers. "We've got a bit of time. There's a little party at the Black Pearl tonight, and all our old friends from Slytherin are invited."

"Brilliant," I say, grinning at him. "I'm going to guess that we weren't invited."

Ron grins back. "Pansy must have forgotten to send our invitations," he says. "Lucky for us, Hathaway can let us in the back."

I knew we had someone undercover at the Black Pearl, but I didn't know Ron knew. "How'd you find out about the party?" I ask.

"I was following Malfoy when he ran into Pansy on the street," Ron says. "I don't think he really fancied going, but she sort of wouldn't let him out of it."

I frown. "How does Jackson come into it? You must have sent for back-up, didn't you? Why didn't anyone else come?"

Ron looks uncomfortable. "Promise you won't let on to Gawain," he says.

"Don't tell me," I say. "You didn't send for back-up. Ron, Gawain's going to kill you when he finds out - "

"I did," Ron protests. "I sent a Patronus like I'm supposed to - that's how Jackson and Hathaway knew - and Perdita came, but then she - er - "

"Then she what?" I ask, confused.

"Left," Ron says simply.

I stare at him. "She deserted in the middle of a mission? Perdita?" She must have been ill or something, but it still doesn't sound like her. Confunded… she could have been Confunded. Or maybe Imperiused. "Think back - was she acting oddly?"

Ron shakes his head. "She wasn't Confunded and she wasn't Imperiused," he says. "I would've been able to tell. She was acting perfectly normal until - " He breaks off.

"Until what?" I prompt.

"I reckon it was my fault," Ron says unhappily. "I should've warned her - only how was I supposed to know he was her brother? There are loads of Gamps!"

What? "Start over," I say.

"She was fine till I told her the party was for Daphne Greengrass and Jeremy Gamp," Ron says. "Jeremy's her brother - I guess. Only I never knew, Harry! Anyway, soon as I said the name, she Disapparated." He frowns. "Which she's not supposed to be doing."

I think back on what I know about Perdita's history, which isn't much. She's a Gamp by birth, but her family disowned her for marrying a Muggle-born… or no, it was before that, wasn't it? I can understand that seeing her brother might make her a bit uncomfortable, but it almost sounds like she panicked. "Was she angry?" I ask. "Or did she seem more frightened?"

"Well, she definitely wasn't pleased," Ron says. "But, yeah - now that you say it, she seemed more scared than anything. Why, though? He wouldn't have known she was there."

"You know her better than I do," I say, shrugging.

"Not lately," Ron says. "Anyway, I didn't want to get her in trouble, so I couldn't send for a new back-up person. That's why I called you. You won't let on to Gawain, will you?"

I sigh and shake my head. "Mind you have a talk with her, though," I warn. "If she's going to make a habit of taking off and leaving her partner stranded - "

"I'll talk to her," Ron says hastily. "Well, shall we go?"

"You might as well take that Disillusionment Charm off," I say. "We'll be invisible." I stare at him as he becomes visible and can't repress a smirk. "Nice mustache."

"I'd better get rid of it," Ron says, swiping his wand hastily across his face. "I think Malfoy looked at me a couple of times. Maybe I'd better do a whole new disguise."

Tempting as it is to see what he comes up with _this_ time, we've got to get over to the Black Pearl. "Later," I say, holding up the edge of the Cloak for him.

The streets have emptied out, and we don't pass anyone on our way to the Black Pearl. We make our way around to the back, and Ron taps lightly at the door. Hathaway opens it partway, wearing a waiter's apron over his robes.

"Who's there?" he says, frowning.

Right - the Cloak. I pull it back just far enough so Hathaway can see our faces. "Looks like rain," he says, glancing past us at the clear sky.

It doesn't, of course - it's one of today's Auror password phrases. "We're supposed to get thunderstorms before midnight," I answer. We're not, obviously, but it's the correct response. Hathaway opens the door the rest of the way and ushers us in.

"Keep under that Cloak," he whispers. "The cook and a few of his helpers are in the kitchen."

Ron and I ease past the kitchen and follow Hathaway up a narrow flight of stairs. He opens a door, and suddenly we're in a large room. I blink, looking around. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the carpeting under my feet is thick and plush. Tiny gold chairs and tables are scattered about the room, and a bar's already set up in one corner.

"Nice set-up," Ron says in a low voice.

"Only the best for the owner's darling daughter," Hathaway says. Judging by his expression, he's no fan of Pansy's. "Now, how did you want to handle this? I'd arranged for the barman to suddenly become ill so that Perdita could take his place - where is she, anyway? - but she knows how to mix drinks."

"I can mix drinks," Ron says quickly, ignoring the question about Perdita. "Sort of, anyway."

"You won't have to worry about anything too complicated with this lot," Hathaway says. "The girls mostly drink champagne cocktails. I'll get you some plain black robes and an apron. Harry, you'll be under the Cloak then?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd just mingle a bit," I say, and Hathaway grins at me as he turns to leave the room.

Ron shoots me a panicked look. "What the hell is in a champagne cocktail?" he hisses. "Besides champagne, obviously."

Ginny and I had them at the resort. "You pour a dash of something-or-other over a sugar cube in the glass before you add the champagne," I say, trying to remember. I hadn't cared for the drink myself, but Ginny liked it.

"I thought those were in case anyone wanted a cup of tea," Ron says, looking at a large bowl of sugar cubes on the edge of the bar. "A dash of what, exactly?"

"No idea," I admit. "Pick something."

"Right," Ron says, glancing at the array of bottles behind him. "Better do a new disguise," he adds happily, but I'm able to restrain him a bit and he's fairly unremarkable looking by the time Hathaway gets back.

"Hurry up," he hisses, tossing a bundle of cloth in Ron's direction. "The violin player's just arrived - and Miss Pugface has already been in the kitchen annoying the cook. The staff all hate her."

We're in place by the time the violin player - a sad-faced wizard in shabby satin robes -starts tuning up. Seconds later, Pansy comes in. We can hear her before we see her.

"Everything had better be perfect," she's saying shrilly. "Mind you bring the appetizers out at exactly quarter past eight - and has the champagne been properly chilled?" She turns on Ron, glaring.

"Er, yes?" Ron says, glancing vaguely at the bottles behind him.

"Yes, _Miss Parkinson_," Pansy corrects. She stops and looks him over slowly. "I haven't seen you before - are you new?"

"Yes, Miss Parkinson," Ron says, giving her his best sycophantic smile.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Pansy says. "Well, what are you waiting for? Make me a champagne cocktail at once!"

Ron's face is expressionless as he reaches for the glass, but his hand hovers indecisively over the row of bottles on the shelf. Fortunately Pansy's diverted by the arrival of her first guests, and I take advantage of the opportunity to slide behind the bar. "_Not_ the firewhisky!" I whisper, just in time to stop him. "They'll all be sick."

"Serve her right if she was," Ron whispers back. "Still a cow, isn't she? What about cherry syrup, then?"

That doesn't seem quite right either, but at least it's got a low alcohol content. "Why not?" I say.

The room's starting to fill up, and I keep a sharp eye on the arriving guests. There's Daphne, and that must be the fiancé with her, judging by the way she's hanging on his arm.

"Doesn't look anything like Perdita, does he?" Ron whispers.

I look at Jeremy Gamp. Perdita's small and fair-haired, and she's always making jokes. Jeremy's tall and dark, and his haughty expression suggests that he's not often amused by anything. "Not a bit," I answer. "Well, I'm off. Good luck with the champagne cocktails!"

I edge closer to Jeremy and Daphne, carefully avoiding the other guests. I recognize most of the girls from Hogwarts - all Slytherins, of course - but the others aren't familiar to me. Of course, most of Pansy and Daphne's contemporaries are in Azkaban; they would've had to look a bit beyond Slytherin House for their boyfriends. A few of the men are clearly English, but the others… I slow down as I pass a small group of opulently-dressed wizards. They're speaking in a foreign language, but damned if I can tell which one. It's definitely not French - it sounds almost like it could be Russian. I wonder, with a sudden flash of excitement, if this could be a lead. We're definitely on the right track, then.

One of the foreign wizards turns abruptly and I have to jump back to avoid colliding with him. Best to move on; see what else I can pick up.

"…long have we got to stay here?" Jeremy Gamp's saying to Daphne. He's obviously bored and not troubling to hide it.

"Keep your voice down!" Daphne hisses. "Pansy's booked the room till ten - we can't leave before that; not when we're the guests of honor. Anyway, she's my best friend."

Jeremy sighs. "I want another drink, then," he says. "And not one of those ridiculous pink things. The English don't understand anything about proper wine."

"_You're_ English," Daphne says crossly. "And champagne cocktails made with cherry syrup are the latest thing in New York and Los Angeles. The barman told me so."

"Americans," Jeremy says dismissively. "I'm having a firewhisky - even that prat of a barman can't possibly muck that up."

_They don't seem awfully keen on each other for an engaged couple, do they?_ I think, watching as he and Daphne cross the room to the bar. I wonder what his relationship is to the foreign wizards. We'll have to look into Mr. Jeremy Gamp.

I notice several people staring in disbelief at the doorway and look up to see Draco Malfoy standing there. There are mutterings all around me as he hesitates just beyond the entrance.

"Pansy told me she'd invited him, but I never thought he'd have the nerve to actually show up," Tracy Davis whispers indignantly from somewhere to my left.

"We don't know his side of the story," a girl says quietly.

Tracy whirls around. "If he'd been responsible for sending _your_ boyfriend to prison, Astoria, you might not be quite so charitable!" she snaps.

I turn to look. So that's Astoria. Now that I see her again, I vaguely remember her from Hogwarts. She's blonde and blue-eyed like Daphne, but she has none of her sister's assurance. She flushes at Tracy's words, but makes no answer.

"That was years ago," Millicent Bulstrode says. "He's still quite good-looking, isn't he? And - well, lots of people made mistakes."

"And the Malfoys still have plenty of gold," Tracy says spitefully, but more people seem to agree with Millicent than with her. Pansy's moved forward to greet Malfoy, and several others have followed her lead.

Interesting - so all will be forgiven? Or is Malfoy being set up? _It'd help a lot if I could tell what any of this lot were saying,_ I think irritably as I move through the room again. The best I can do right now is scribble down a phonetic version of some of the words I'm hearing and trust that they make sense to someone.

I glance over at Malfoy again, just in time to see him slipping from the room. _Leaving already, Draco?_

He hasn't gone far, though - he's standing near the top of the stairs talking to someone I can't see.

"Don't you like parties anymore, Astoria?" he asks. "You always used to."

"You remember me!" Astoria's voice answers, sounding pleased. I move closer and see her sitting on the stairs. "I didn't think you would."

"Of course I remember you," Malfoy says. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" He sounds almost diffident - not at all like his usual arrogant self.

Astoria moves over to make room for him. "You didn't answer my question," Malfoy reminds her.

"I like parties," Astoria assures him. "I just - well, I don't like Jeremy very much! I know that's an awful thing to say about my own sister's fiancé, but it's true!"

"I've never met Jeremy," Malfoy says. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Astoria says after a minute. "He's just not very nice. And he doesn't act a bit like he's in love with Daphne, although I'm sure he must be. I mean, he did ask her to marry him."

"People get married for reasons other than love," Malfoy says.

"I wouldn't," Astoria says firmly. "And neither would you."

Malfoy looks startled. "How do you know?" he asks. "Maybe I'm not very nice, either."

"Of course you are," Astoria says, but she's smiling now. "Will you tell me about New Zealand? Did you like it there?"

"Yeah, I did," Malfoy says slowly. "It was a bit boring at times, but it was sort of peaceful not having to worry about - well, certain things."

I almost feel sorry for him. It must have been a blow, being dragged back to London like that.

"Couldn't you have stayed?" Astoria's asking.

Malfoy shakes his head. "Father thought it best that we all come home," he answers. There's a finality in his voice that discourages further questions, and Astoria takes the hint.

"Well, it's lovely to have you back," she says, offering him her shy smile again. "At least I'll have someone to talk to at these sorts of affairs. Will you come to Daphne's wedding?"

"Not if she's going to be serving this pink stuff," Malfoy says, looking at his nearly full glass. "That barman said it was a champagne cocktail, but it's definitely not."

Astoria giggles. "I don't like them much, either," she confesses. "But Daph says they're very _in_."

The door behind me opens and I step back just in time. "There you are, Astoria," Daphne says, sounding annoyed. "You'd better come back in. Pansy's going to make a speech." She glances back over her shoulder as she turns. "Hello, Draco," she adds, not sounding particularly warm.

"Hello, Daphne," Malfoy says. His voice is equally chilly.

"Come _on_, Astoria," Daphne says impatiently.

Astoria gets reluctantly to her feet. "Coming?" she says to Malfoy.

"In a minute," he answers. I can tell he's going to cut out, and I can't blame him. Pansy's speech isn't exactly going to be a treat for any of us.

Sure enough, Malfoy starts down the stairs as soon as the door's closed behind Astoria and Daphne. I hesitate, half-tempted to follow him, but Jackson'll pick him up as soon as he goes outside and I know Gawain's going to think it's more important to keep an eye on the foreign wizards. I ease the door open a half-inch and wait till everyone's attention is focused on Pansy before slipping through.

**Ron**

"Get anything?" Hathaway asks, pulling off his apron and tossing it aside.

"Not much," I say. "They were all jabbering away in some foreign language half the time. It reminded me of when the Durmstrang lot came to visit us at Hogwarts." I look up as Harry comes toward us, the Invisibility Cloak folded over his arm. "What about you?"

"I tried writing down some of the words, but I don't know if I got them right," Harry answers, pulling a crumpled cocktail napkin from his pocket. "Wish they'd all speak English."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" I say with a shrug. "They were probably all just saying how bad the food is compared to Russia or Bulgaria or wherever the hell they're from."

"Probably saying how bad the _drinks_ were," Hathaway says, grinning at me. I throw a sugar cube at him, but he catches it neatly. "I've got all of their names, for what it's worth. Pugface had a guest list and we had to cross everyone off as they came in."

"Brilliant," Harry says. "Let's have a look - maybe we can put descriptions next to some of the names."

I glance covertly at my watch. Half-past ten and I never had any dinner. No wonder I'm starving. "Already done," Hathaway says, much to my relief. "I thought I'd better get it all down while it was fresh in my mind."

_Bless you, Hathaway,_ I think. "I'm off, then," I say quickly. "Coming, Harry?"

Hermione's still up when I get home. I expected her to be in bed - or at least curled up on the sofa with a book - but she's sitting at our tiny kitchen table with parchment spread out all around her. "What's all this?" I ask, leaning down for a kiss.

"My press release for the _Daily Prophet_," Hermione says. "Ginny invited me over for dinner and we worked on it all evening. I've only just got home myself."

"What'd you have to eat?" I ask enviously, and Hermione laughs.

"Winky sent you a plate," she says. "It's in the oven, keeping warm."

"Cheers, Winky," I say to the plate. I eye the roast chicken and potatoes appreciatively as I sit down across from Hermione, shifting a few stacks of parchment to make room. "Did you say Ginny helped you?"

Hermione nods. "She's quite a good writer," she says, sounding surprised. "I never knew before."

"If she's so good, why are you still working on it?" I ask skeptically

"I wasn't sure it was long enough," Hermione says. "Ginny said I ought to keep it to half a roll of parchment, but I thought maybe I ought to include something about the way werewolves have been treated throughout history."

If it's anywhere near as long-winded as some of Hermione's old school essays, she'll be lucky if anyone at the _Prophet_ gets through the whole thing without falling asleep, but I decide that's an opinion I'd better keep to myself. "Ginny's right," I say. "The shorter it is, the more likely they'll be to - er, have space for it."

Hermione frowns and looks down at the parchment again. "Maybe you're right," she says, crossing out several lines. "But then again…"

I reach out a hand before she can write anything else. "Let's have a look," I say.

I'm actually quite impressed by the time I've finished. "Ginny's a pretty good writer," I admit. "They ought to hire her to write up the Quidditch news - that bloke who covers the matches always gets everyone's names wrong."

"Do you really think it's all right?" Hermione asks, ignoring the Quidditch comment.

"It's perfect," I say, flicking my wand at my empty plate so that it lands in the sink. "Don't change a word."

"I'll just copy it out on a fresh piece of parchment," Hermione says, picking up her quill again. "What kept you so long, anyway?"

"Following Malfoy," I say. "Pansy Parkinson invited him to a party. I got to play barman - I think I invented a couple of new cocktails, by the way - and I thought Harry might want to join in on the fun, seeing as he's been away for so long."

Hermione looks up. "Wasn't Perdita with you?"

I tell her the whole story. "She just Disapparated and left you there?" Hermione repeats when I've finished. "She shouldn't have done that - it could have been very dangerous!"

"I know," I say. "Not supposed to Apparate at all, is she?"

"I didn't mean _her_," Hermione says. "I meant _you_. Something could have happened and you wouldn't have had any back-up. I'll have something to say about this to Perdita the next time I see her!"

She's actually angry with Perdita for leaving me on my own. People think _I'm_ the overprotective one, but believe me, it goes both ways. "You can't," I say reasonably. "I'm not supposed to tell you about anything that happens in the Aurors, remember?"

"Perdita probably knows you tell me everything," Hermione says.

"Yeah, but I'd just as soon we didn't point it out to her," I say. "Anyway, I wasn't in any danger when she left. I was just hanging about in Diagon Alley."

"She still shouldn't have left you," Hermione says stubbornly, but she looks mollified. "But it does sound like she was really upset."

"That was weird, too," I say, frowning.

"I don't know," Hermione says, switching sides abruptly. "There was a time when you wouldn't have been pleased to see Percy."

"Yeah, but I wasn't afraid of him!" I say. "I could've taken Percy on any time from the time I was thirteen - okay, maybe fourteen."

"That's just it," Hermione says, leaning forward. "_Why_ is she afraid of him? Perdita's a trained Auror - it would take a lot to frighten her like that." She sets the roll of parchment aside and rubs the back of her neck absently. "Didn't she ever tell you any more about what happened with her family?"

I move my chair closer to Hermione's and take over the neck rub. "Relax," I tell her. She gets so tense when she's working on things.

Hermione closes her eyes obediently and leans into me. "Perdita's family," she reminds me.

"All she ever told me is that they disowned her when she was still at school," I say. "It was mostly because she'd started dating a Muggle-born, but they weren't any too pleased that she wanted to be an Auror, either." I think about it some more. "Do you think Jeremy's what's been wrong with her lately?"

"It sounds as though she didn't know he was back till you told her," Hermione answers. "Did you meet him? Is he awful?"

"Yes, and yes," I say. "Perfect match for Daphne Greengrass. I'd never have taken him for Perdita's brother." And I wish he hadn't come back, if this is what it's going to do to her. Perdita was acting like her old self when I first saw her earlier tonight…

"That reminds me," I say to Hermione. "I got you a present today."

**Hermione**

I manage to slip out of the office while Basil's in a meeting. I'm sure he'd feel the need to accompany me to the _Daily Prophet_ offices, and I'm just as sure that I can do without his company.

I take the press release from my carry-bag as I approach the building. I'm not sure who to ask for. I should have looked up an editor's name before I left the office, but I was in such a hurry to escape without Basil…

I hear someone call my name and look up to see Dennis Creevey just leaving the _Prophet_ offices. "I thought that was you!" he says, beaming at me. "Hermione, the _Daily Prophet_'s bought one of my photographs!"

"Oh, Dennis, that's wonderful," I say. He's been trying to get them to look at his pictures for ages. "Which one was it?"

"It's one I took at the World Cup," Dennis says happily. "And they asked if I had any others!"

"You were at the World Cup?" I ask, diverted. Goodness, Ron's going to be jealous. "It was in Italy this year, wasn't it?"

Dennis nods. "An old beau of Muriel's sent her tickets, but she said she'd never cared about Quidditch and she was too old to bother pretending now. So I went with - er, a date." He's blushing furiously.

"I'm sure Ron would love to see your photographs from the match," I say tactfully, trying - and failing - to picture Muriel with a beau. "Harry and Ginny, too."

"I've got other photographs they're going to be a lot more interested in," Dennis says, looking relieved at the change in subject. "The ones I took at the wedding are ready. And that reminds me - I made an extra print of one for you. Here!" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a package wrapped in brown paper. "I was going to send it by owl, but as long as you're right here…"

I tear the wrapping off eagerly and find myself confronted by a photograph of a girl who looks rather familiar. She's wearing a bold expression and not much else. "Is that Romilda Vane?" I say incredulously.

Dennis turns even redder. "I must have given you the wrong package," he says, snatching the photograph out of my hands. "Here, this one's yours!"

I stare at him. "Dennis, are you dating Romilda?" I ask. He must be, or she'd never let him photograph her like that, but I have a hard time picturing them together.

"Yeah," Dennis says, not looking at me. "I ran into her at Seamus's club the night before the World Cup, and - well, we've seen each other every night since." He finally meets my eyes, looking half embarrassed and half pleased. "It's amazing how much we've got in common."

_Well,_ I'm _certainly amazed._ "What does Muriel think of her?" I ask carefully.

"Er," Dennis says. "Well, they've only met once and it didn't go awfully well. Muriel said Romilda was a bold piece and that she dresses like a tart."

Without meaning to, I glance at the photograph in his hand. "She didn't wear _that_!" Dennis says quickly. "She had proper robes on - only they were sort of tight, and I guess they were a bit low-cut…"

"I'm sure it'll be all right once they get to know each other," I say comfortingly, even though I don't think anything of the sort. Romilda's all wrong for Dennis.

"I think so, too," Dennis says, restored to happiness. "Anyway, I'd better run - I'm taking Romilda to lunch. Hope you like the photograph!" He hurries off before I can answer.

I look up at the _Prophet_ building. _If Dennis can do it, so can you,_ I tell myself firmly. A bored-looking witch at the desk in the lobby is examining her face in a pocket mirror and ignoring several owls clustered at her elbow clamoring for attention.

"Excuse me," I say, approaching the desk. "I'm looking for - "

Someone rushes up behind me. "Noreen, that had better not be the owl I've been waiting for all morning," a woman says sharply. She breaks off and stares at me.

"Hello, Rita," I say wearily. I was rather hoping I wouldn't run into her.

"Well, if it isn't Hermione Granger," Rita says, giving me a tight smile. Noreen's eyes widen and she gives me a covert look.

"Weasley," I correct.

"Whatever," Rita says. "I suppose it's too much to expect that you've finally decided to give me an interview?"

"I'll be glad to speak to you about this," I say, offering her my press release on the Wolfsbane project.

Rita glances at it scornfully. "Boring," she says briefly. "I don't cover that sort of do-gooder stuff. You want Features for that."

"Thanks," I say. I turn to Noreen. "Who's the Features editor, please?"

"Never mind," Rita says to both of us. She takes my arm, drawing me away. "Since we're such old friends, I'd be willing to make an exception and cover the story myself," she says. "Of course, I'd want a few quotes from you on another subject."

I don't like the look in her eyes. "What other subject?" I ask warily.

"Harry Potter's wedding," Rita says, eyes gleaming. "You were a bridesmaid, weren't you? How did it make you feel to see Harry pledge himself to another woman? Despairing? Angry? Rejected?"

"Very pleased," I say firmly. _Honestly._ "And I'm not going to talk about the wedding. But I can offer you something else."

"It'd better not be about house-elves," Rita warns, eyes narrowed.

"It's not," I say, reaching into my carry-bag. "How would you like a sneak preview of two of next season's Chocolate Frog cards?"

I leave an hour later with Rita's assurance that the Wolfsbane Project will be a half-page feature. I have an uneasy feeling that she got a bit more personal information out of me than I'd intended, but it can't be helped now. I suppose I'll just have to wait and see what she puts in the article. Anyway, the important thing is that the word about the project is getting out.

I'm back at my desk in the Ministry before I remember the package Dennis gave me. I unwrap it carefully, hoping it's not another picture of Romilda. It's not, though. It's of me and Ron, dancing together at the wedding. I don't even remember him taking this - probably because I'm staring into my husband's eyes like a besotted fourteen-year-old with her first boyfriend. But he's looking at me the same way…

"What's that you've got there?" Basil says from behind me.

The Ron in the photograph looks annoyed and swings the pictured Hermione toward the back of the picture, away from Basil. "It's just something a friend gave me," I say firmly, pulling the brown paper wrapping over it. "Was there something you needed, Basil?"

**Harry**

"I thought you wanted to talk to him today," I say, watching as Gawain throws several items into a small leather satchel. "There isn't much time, not with everything we've got to - "

"I am well aware of the passage of time, Harry," Gawain says testily. "This can't be helped." He stops packing for a minute and looks at me. "If there's even a slight chance that my informant was wrong, I'd prefer to use Harris as we originally planned."

"Do you think he was wrong?" I can't help asking. I don't know who the informant was, but Gawain seemed pretty convinced of Harris's untrustworthiness when I talked to him yesterday.

Gawain sighs. "There is a chance," he says. "In any case, I need to know how deeply our security has been breached before we continue. Fortunately, I have a reliable method at my disposal." He holds up a small flask before stowing it carefully in the bag. The liquid inside looks like water.

"Veritaserum," I say, and he nods briskly.

"Regrettable, but necessary," he says. "Should the rumors be true, I will of course take steps to place Harris in a more secure location."

"Do you want me to go with you?" I ask, but I already know what the answer's going to be before he shakes his head.

"I agree that this would be a valuable learning experience for you, but it is essential that you remain here," he says. "If anything should happen to me, it will fall to you to ensure that all evidence of the project is destroyed." He hands me a small silver key. "This - and this alone - will open my desk in the event of an emergency. I trust you not to use it for any other purpose."

"Right," I manage, although my mouth and throat are suddenly dry. Gawain's never put this sort of trust in me before. This must be more dangerous than he's letting on. "Anything you want me to take care of while you're gone?"

Gawain looks thoughtful. "Continue your investigation of the guests at Miss Parkinson's party," he says. "Discreetly, of course. You can pull Weasley off surveillance to help you." He allows himself a half-smile. "I daresay he won't be disappointed - it's been pouring rain all morning."

"What about Draco Malfoy?" I ask.

Gawain eyes me. "What would you suggest, Harry?" he asks.

He's testing me again. He does this a lot. "O'Connor's already there watching Narcissa," I say. "She can manage the pair of them unless one decides to leave the house. If that happens, one of the two we've got on Lucius can take over either Draco or Narcissa until back-up arrives."

"Precisely," Gawain says. "You will instruct O'Connor to do just that when you go to fetch Weasley." He hesitates a minute and adds, "It's just as well to give him as much background information as possible, in the event that it becomes necessary."

I can't think of an answer to this, so I just nod. Gawain starts for the door and then stops. "Incidentally," he adds. "How did it happen that you accompanied Weasley to the Black Pearl last night? I understand from Persimmon that he sent a message requesting back-up and that Perdita responded."

"Ron called me and I went," I say with a shrug, hoping that'll suffice. But I ought to know Gawain better than that by now.

"And Perdita?" he asks.

"I don't know where she was last night," I say, truthfully enough.

Gawain gives me a penetrating look. "I asked Weasley the same question, and got the distinct impression that he was attempting to cover for his partner," he remarks. "Admirable in most situations, of course, but not in this particular one. It has not escaped my notice that Perdita is not quite herself these days."

"I haven't seen her since I got back," I say evasively.

Gawain sighs. "You know about her family, I suppose?"

"I know the basics," I answer, relieved at the change of subject. "And Ron told me about Jeremy Gamp being her brother."

"Yes," Gawain says slowly. "I expect - but never mind. We'll go into all that when we've got this other matter well in hand. In any case, perhaps it's just as well that Perdita's not spending much time with Weasley these days. She's far too gifted an Auror not to catch on." He picks up his bag again and opens the door, ushering me out ahead of him. "I'll be in touch, Harry," he says, and goes.

"You've got an owl, Harry," Persimmon says cheerfully as I pass her desk. "Ginny's, isn't she?"

Ginny's Amber is perched on my desk nibbling interestedly at the fountain pen my father-in-law gave me on my last birthday. ("Amazing things these Muggles come up with, isn't it, Harry?" he'd said, beaming, and I'd made a mental note to find him a ballpoint next time I'm in a Muggle area.) Amber holds out a leg as I approach and I lean down to take the letter.

_"Dennis Creevey sent an owl saying he'd got the wedding pictures ready, so I invited him for dinner,"_ Ginny's note reads. _"Why not ask Ron and Hermione round as well? Tell everyone around seven. Love you."_

I groan to myself. The last person I want to see right now is Hermione. If this happens, it's going to be harder on her than anyone. Still, maybe it won't. Maybe Gawain will find out that his informant was mistaken, and that Harris can still go through with it.

_Remember what Gawain said,_ I tell myself. _Separate your personal life from work._ Only how can I, when my best friends and my job have always been so intertwined? But there's nothing else for it. I scribble an affirmative reply on the back of Ginny's note to me and send Amber on her way.

**Ron**

The only good thing about this bloody rain is that the peacocks hate it worse than I do. The lot of them are huddled under an overhang, feathers drooping. They don't even look up when Harry says my name, although I'm startled enough to leap off the wall.

"Nice Auror you are," Harry says, and I can tell he's grinning at me under that bloody Cloak. "What if I'd been Lucius?"

"You wouldn't be," I say. "Lucius has got sense enough not to come out of the house in this weather." I look hopefully in his general direction. "Don't suppose you've come to tell me to go home?"

"Actually, I have," Harry says. "Well, not home, but indoors at least. Gawain wants us to research last night's party guests."

"Excellent," I say thankfully, sliding down off the wall for a second time. "What about the Ferret?"

"O'Connor's got it," Harry says. "Come on, I'm getting wet."

_He's_ getting wet? But I'm in too much of a hurry to bother saying it. I move a few steps beyond the front gates of Malfoy Manor and Disapparate.

Harry's already waiting for me in the Atrium. "Drying Charms, ladies and gentlemen, please!" someone from Magical Maintenance is saying as we join the queue in front of the lifts. "We've just had that new carpeting installed in the lifts - oh, it's you, Ron! How are you, then?"

It's Reg Cattermole. "Bit damp," I confess. "Mary and the kids all right?" I do a Drying Charm on myself, wishing Hermione were there to do it for me. Hers always make the clothes come out all ironed, while mine make them look like - well, like they do now. I try to smooth the wrinkled fabric with my hands, but it's no good.

"They're all great," Reg says. "Our Maisie's heard about your Chocolate Frog card. She wants to know will you sign one for her when she gets it?"

"I'll sign cards for all three of them, and so will Hermione," I promise. I can't help being pleased that everyone waiting for the lift can overhear us. I know it's a bit conceited, but it's not like you get your picture on a Chocolate Frog card every day, is it?

"Cheers, Ron," Reg says happily. I wave to him as we step onto the lift.

"I've been through all the files we have in the Auror Office, and there's not much there," Harry says in a low voice, once everyone else has finally stepped off the lift. "I thought we might have better luck in Magical Records."

"Oh, is that where we're going?" I say, grinning as he leans over to press the button again. "I thought we were just going to ride up and down all day."

"There was something else I wanted to tell you," Harry says. "Gawain was asking me about Perdita."

Oh, bloody hell. "He asked me, too," I say. "I didn't know what to tell him. She hasn't been in this morning, but she finally answered my third Patronus."

"Is she okay?" Harry asks.

"Sort of," I say. "Well, she told me to get back to work and stop bothering her, but she often says things like that." _Only this time she wasn't joking around - she sounded like she meant it._ "Long as we're going to Magical Records," I say, trying to make my voice casual, "we might just as well look up her family."

"You think this Jeremy might be a problem?" Harry asks.

"I don't know what I think," I admit. "Only - don't you think it's a bit strange that all these people are suddenly showing up? Lucius Malfoy, and Perdita's brother, and all those weird foreign blokes last night…"

Harry gives me a funny look. "Yeah," he says quietly. "It's a bit strange."

Ernie MacMillan's talking to an elderly witch dressed in Muggle Relations robes when we come in. "Of course, I know a bit more about it than most people," he's saying pompously. "They covered it in detail at NEWT level in History of Magic."

Bloody hell. Ernie took History of Magic at NEWT level? Even Hermione dropped it after our OWL year. "How'd he stay awake?" I whisper to Harry.

"What?" Harry says, not listening.

"Never mind," I say. The witch called Almira is thanking Ernie and hurrying away with a book in her hands - probably trying to escape while she still can.

Ernie looks up and sees us. "Need something from the Records, do you?" he asks, beaming. Ernie's always pleased when he has things in his files that we don't have in ours.

"Registries of foreign wizards," Harry says. "Anything in Eastern Europe, but let's start with Russia and Bulgaria."

"And Romania," I put in, thinking of Charlie.

"Registries are all in the back room," Ernie says at once. "You can't take them out of the Office, but you're welcome to sit back there and have a look."

One glance at the Registries is enough to tell me why we can't take them out. "I'll bet they wouldn't fit through the door," I say to Harry, once Ernie's left us on our own.

Harry grins at me as he pulls a list of names from his pocket and spreads it out on the table between us. I recognize it at once as Pansy's guest list from last night, complete with Hathaway's comments. "At least they're written in English," he says. "Which country do you want?"

"Not Bulgaria," I say at once. "It reminds me of Krum." Harry's giving me that funny look again. "What?" I say, a little irritably.

"Nothing," Harry says at once. "I only just remembered - Ginny wanted me to invite you and Hermione to dinner tonight. Dennis is bringing the photographs he took at the wedding."

"We'll be there," I say gratefully. It's supposed to be my night to cook - never a happy occasion at the Weasley dinner table. I heave the Romanian Registry off the shelf and open it to the index. It takes up half the table. "Wonder if Charlie knows any of these blokes," I say idly, running the tip of my finger along a row of names. Thinking of Charlie reminds me of Perdita again, only I can't think why. I put it out of my mind and reach for Pansy's guest list.

"How're we supposed to know which ones are from which country?" I say. They all look sort of the same to me - foreign.

Harry shrugs. "Guess we'll just have to check all of them in each Registry," he answers.

Great. I wonder for a second if I wouldn't rather have stayed on surveillance duty after all, but it's probably still raining. "Bloody hell, half these blokes are called Vladimir," I say. "This is worse than trying to find Nicholas Flamel in the Hogwarts library that time. Only we haven't got Hermione here to do most of the work for us."

Harry looks up. "We can't ask her to help with this," he says. "This is Auror business."

Where the hell did that come from? "I wasn't going to ask her," I say, annoyed. "She's got her own work to do."

Harry flushes slightly. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean - well, never mind."

And there's that look again. Just for a minute, I think about asking him what the hell's going on. But Harry's already absorbed in his book again, and I decide to let it go. He's probably not any more thrilled to be doing this than I am. He'd probably rather be tracking the Malfoys than looking through these dusty books.

**Hermione**

"I can't decide between these two for my wedding album," Ginny says, setting two nearly identical photographs in front of me. "Which do you think, Hermione?"

Ron leans over me to see. "Aren't they the same picture?" he asks.

"Of course not," Ginny says. "In this one I'm looking straight ahead, and in this one I'm looking ever so slightly to the left."

Ron gives her a disbelieving look. "I like both of them," I say quickly, before he can open his mouth again. "Harry, what do you think?"

"What?" Harry says, startled. "Oh - er, that one." He points to a photograph, obviously at random.

"_Why_ do you prefer that one?" I say, calling him on it.

Harry throws a quick look in Ginny's direction, but she's huddled with Dennis over several proofs of a group picture and hasn't noticed his inattention. "Give me a break, Hermione," he whispers, grinning at me.

I smile back, relieved. Maybe it's my imagination, but Harry hasn't seemed like himself tonight. _It's probably some Auror thing,_ I tell myself sternly. _Nothing you need to worry about._

All the same, I'm secretly relieved when Ginny starts yawning not long afterwards and we have an excuse to go home. "It's still early," Ginny protests, but she looks relieved, too.

"You can hardly keep your eyes open," Harry tells her fondly. "The first days of Quidditch practice after break are always hard - I remember from Hogwarts."

"Did Harry seem all right to you?" I ask, once Ron and I are settled at home on our own sofa. I don't know why I'm bothering to ask - Ron never notices that sort of thing - but to my surprise he agrees with me.

"He's been a bit funny all day," he says. "I think it's got something to do with the Malfoys. Harry thought he might pick up a few clues about Parkinson and Pucey if he followed Draco, but Gawain keeps assigning other people to surveillance instead of him."

I suppose that could be it. Harry's always had a sort of a thing about the Malfoys - although he's always been right, hasn't he?

Ron picks up the photograph of the two of us dancing and looks it over, pleased. "Nice of Dennis to give us this, wasn't it? He must've taken it when you were asking me to go for that walk."

"I thought you asked me," I say. I lean over him to see the picture again. "It's good, isn't it? We'll have to get it framed."

"Yeah," Ron says. "Then we can put it on our sideboard - when we get one."

"He's seeing Romilda Vane," I can't resist saying.

Ron sets the picture down and stares at me. "Who?" he says incredulously. _"Dennis?"_

I nod. "Only don't let on I told you," I warn. "He took her to meet your aunt and it doesn't sound as though things went very well."

Ron laughs. "No, I don't expect they would have," he says. "Well, so Dennis and Romilda. How'd he ever get the nerve to ask her out?"

"From what I remember about Romilda, I imagine she did all the asking," I say tartly.

Ron puts his arm around me. "Aren't you ever going to forgive her for that Love Potion?" he says teasingly. "It was Harry she was after, not me."

"I just think she's all wrong for Dennis," I say.

"Dennis obviously doesn't think so," Ron says, sounding amused.

Never mind. I'll talk it over with Ginny. Surely between the two of us we can come up with someone more suitable for Dennis than Romilda Vane. "I meant to ask," I say, changing the subject. "Did you get a chance to talk to Perdita about last night?"

Ron shakes his head. "She finally answered my message so I know she's all right," he says. "I keep thinking all this must have something to do with her brother coming back. Only she never mentioned him to me before, and it's not as though I knew her at Hogwarts back when all this with her family was going on, so - "

"You might not have been at Hogwarts with her, but lots of other people were," I interrupt. "Your own brother, for instance. Wasn't Perdita in Charlie's year?"

"Yeah," Ron says. "She told me once that she had a crush on him when she was a first-year, but then she met Marvin and - Hermione, that's what I was trying to remember when I had the Romania book! Charlie!"

The Romania book? "What?" I ask, thoroughly confused.

"He's bound to know the whole story," Ron says excitedly. "I'll send him a Patronus asking - no, better not. He might get it in front of a lot of people or something. A letter's so slow, though!"

"Not if you use an international express owl," I say. "I'll take it to the post office tomorrow for you, if you like - I've got to mail Mum's birthday card, anyway." I look guiltily at Pig's cage as I speak, but he's off hunting.

"I'm going to tell Charlie to send his owl to us here at the flat," Ron says, picking up a quill. "I don't want to get his answer in front of Perdita. Or Gawain, either. Not that they'd know what it said, but still."

**Harry**

Looking at the wedding pictures took my mind off everything that's been happening at work, but the memories return in full force when I get Gawain's Patronus.

"Message to follow," it tells me in Gawain's voice. "Move to a secure location and send word when available."

"He's a bit much sometimes, isn't he?" Ginny says, pulling her pajamas over her head. "I suppose our bedroom's not a secure location?"

"That's just how he is," I say. "I'd better answer." It's true that half of Gawain's "secure location" messages aren't anything terribly secret, but this one - this is bound to be something about Harris.

I go into the room across the hall and close the door behind me. I don't bother with the light - I don't need one to send a Patronus. I can't help wishing - not for the first time - that Gawain would do something about getting more mirrors made like the ones Ron and I have. I'm sure the Department of Mysteries could figure out the charm for us - or George could. But Gawain's not much for what he calls "new-fangled inventions", even though most of the Aurors are among George's biggest customers.

I don't have to wait long. "Confirmed unfeasible," Gawain's voice says tersely. "Be in my office first thing in the morning - and bring Weasley with you."

This is it, then. It's really going to happen. I sit for a long time in the darkness before I can bring myself to rejoin Ginny. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Hermione**

The alarm's not due to go off for another hour, but I'm too nervous to go back to sleep. Rita Skeeter's article about the Wolfsbane Project should be in this morning's _Daily Prophet_, and I can't help worrying about what she's going to write. Of course, I don't really believe she'd dare to put anything too awful, not when I know she's an unregistered Animagus - and I work for the Department of Magical Law now, too - but still. Rita has a way of insinuating things. I sit up with a sigh and reach for my dressing gown.

"Getting up now isn't going to make that owl come any sooner," Ron says sleepily. "Come back to bed, Hermione."

"I can't sleep," I say. I eye him hopefully. It'd be nice to have company while I wait. "It wouldn't do you any harm to get an early start for once."

Ron opens his eyes halfway and looks at me. "As far as I'm concerned, there's only one good reason to wake up an hour early, and you definitely don't look like you're in the mood for it," he says.

Honestly. "Is that all you ever think about?" I demand.

"I didn't hear any complaints last night," Ron says, turning over and closing his eyes again. "Call me when breakfast is ready."

"Make your own breakfast," I tell him.

I meant it, too - but not long afterwards, I find myself in the kitchen. I don't feel as though I could possibly eat anything, but I've got to do something while I wait and I'm far too nervous to read. Ron appears a few minutes later.

"Thought I smelled bacon," he says, looking pleased. He looks down at the single place I've set in front of him. "Aren't you going to eat anything? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"You sound like my mother," I say, scooping scrambled eggs onto his plate.

"I sound like _my_ mother," Ron admits, grinning at me. "Come on, Hermione - you need to eat."

I'm still not sure I can manage to swallow anything, but I fix myself a plate and sit down across from him. I've just picked up a fork when the owl appears at the window.

"I'll get it," Ron says. "You stay there and finish your breakfast."

I can't eat another bite till I know what Rita's said. I push my plate aside and hold out my hand for the paper.

It's all right, though. I feel a huge wave of relief break over me. It's in typical Rita style, of course - she refers to me as 'the former heroine of the Battle of Hogwarts', and there's a rather unnecessary segue into Remus Lupin's 'tragic marriage' - but on the whole it's rather restrained. And she managed to remember to credit everyone involved in the Wolfsbane Project, and she's made it very clear that free Wolfsbane will be given out at St. Mungo's the week prior to the full moon, so that's all I care about.

"See?" Ron says, leaning over my shoulder to read. "You were worried for nothing, Hermione! We might just as well have slept another hour." He puts an arm around me and hugs me to his side. "Nice being married to a heroine."

"Former heroine," I correct. I flip through the paper to find the end of the article, but it's nothing except a bit of fluff about the Chocolate Frog cards and I scarcely bother to scan it. I feel suddenly hungry and pull my plate toward me again.

Ron's taken over the paper. "That's funny," he says. "Wonder what she meant by that?"

"Who?" I say absently.

"Rita," Ron says. "Didn't you read the bit about the Chocolate Frog cards?"

"Not really," I admit.

"Listen to this," Ron says. _"'On a lighter note, Hermione Weasley was kind enough to allow me a peek at this season's Chocolate Frog cards, featuring her and her husband, Auror Ron Weasley. Certainly this series will be a bigger success with young collectors than the more controversial 'heroes' that my sources tell me are planned for future seasons.'"_ He sets the paper down and looks at me. "How the hell can a Chocolate Frog card be controversial?"

"I suppose it depends who's on it," I say.

"Well, yeah," Ron says. "But how controversial can it be? It's not like they're going to do one of Voldemort."

I shudder in spite of myself. "I don't even want to imagine what that would look like," I say. I think about it for a second. "You don't suppose they're going to do one of Sirius, do you? Or Remus?"

"Sirius wasn't even around at the Battle of Hogwarts," Ron points out. "And if it was Remus, she'd have found a way to work it into the beginning of the article."

"I haven't any idea, then," I say. "It's probably just Rita making things up again."

"Probably," Ron agrees. He looks down at the article again. "I'll tell you what, Hermione - I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up getting a promotion out of all this!"

"Oh, I don't know," I say, even though I've secretly wondered the same thing.

"If you do," Ron says, "and if I could manage to track down those last few missing people - well, I reckon we could start looking at houses in another year or so, couldn't we? Not to buy, right off, but we could look around a bit."

Ron and Perdita have made quite a name for themselves tracking down the people who went missing during the last war. The extra money's been nice, of course, but I think it's wonderful that they were able to help so many people like the Cattermoles.

"There's no harm in starting to look now, is there?" I suggest. "We ought to at least know which area we want to live in." We already know we don't want to live in the city, but that leaves quite a lot to choose from.

"We might go this weekend," Ron says, brightening. "I'm supposed to cover the Malfoys on Saturday, but I'll see if Jackson'll trade with me." He flips the paper open again, turning to the real estate section in the back. "We could make a whole weekend out of it, couldn't we?"

**Harry**

I'm in the office early, but Gawain's door is closed.

"He sent a message saying he wouldn't be in till late this afternoon," Persimmon says when I inquire. "Did you need to see him about something important, Harry?"

I'm not sure what Gawain's told her - nothing, probably. "Nothing that can't wait," I say. "I'll be in Magical Records if anyone wants me."

I manage to intercept Ron in the corridor and warn him that the meeting's been postponed. "All right," Ron says, shrugging. "I'm supposed to be at Malfoy Manor for ten o'clock - do you want me to help you out with those Records again first?"

I don't think I can sit in the same room with him and not tell him. "I can manage it by myself," I say. "I'll see you later."

"Right, then," Ron says. "Maybe I'll go relieve Jackson early. I need to get him in a good mood so he'll trade shifts with me on Saturday. Hermione and I thought we might go away for the weekend."

I can't even meet his eyes. "Brilliant," I say hollowly. "See you later, then."

Gawain doesn't show up until after three. I hurry into his office straight away, hoping to hear about what happened with Harris, but Gawain's not talking.

"We'll wait for Weasley," is all he says. "Incidentally, Harry, have you seen this morning's _Prophet_?"

"Hermione's Wolfsbane thing?" I ask. "Yeah - brilliant, wasn't it? Andromeda's really pleased - she sent me an owl this morning."

"The publicity is most regrettable under the circumstances," Gawain says with a sigh. "And the timing of the Chocolate Frog cards is also unfortunate."

So he's going ahead with it. The chessboard is sitting in the middle of his desk again.

"Are you testing him?" I ask, nodding at it.

"Oh, I've done that," Gawain says, just as the door opens. "There you are, Weasley. Close the door and sit down, please. I was just telling Harry that you are an excellent chess player."

"Thanks," Ron says, looking slightly surprised.

"I'd like to see you play against Harry," Gawain says, pushing the board forward.

"What, _now_?" I can't help saying.

Gawain gives me one of his looks. "Right," I say.

"It won't take me long to beat him," Ron says with a grin, but I can tell he's a bit puzzled by this request.

It doesn't, in fact, take very long. It never does. "Once more, I think," Gawain says inexorably.

Ron catches my eye and I shrug. I don't know what Gawain's doing - he said he'd already played against Ron, but maybe he's getting something out of observing. I'm determined to make a better showing this time, but my mind's not completely on the game and Ron wins easily.

I look covertly at Gawain, wondering if I'm going to be forced to embarrass myself a third time, but he picks up the board and sets it on a shelf near his desk. "Ever taught anyone to play chess, Weasley?" he asks, managing to sound casual.

"Well, I taught Harry and Hermione," Ron answers. "Mind, Harry's obviously no credit to me, but Hermione's gotten pretty good." He grins at me, and I force myself to grin back, even though I know what's coming.

Gawain leans forward. "What I am about to tell you must never leave this room," he says in a low voice.

Ron, clearly startled at the change in tone, nods.

"As you are well aware, a few of Lord Voldemort's former supporters have thus far managed to evade capture, despite the best efforts of this office," Gawain begins. "Certain suspicious activity has led us to believe that these wizards have in fact managed to band together and are attempting once again to force their way into power."

He pauses. Ron's staring at him. "Parkinson and Pucey?" he asks, glancing sideways at me.

"Maybe," I say. I hesitate. "Probably. We don't know for sure about Pucey, but we think Simon Parkinson's involved."

Gawain glares at me, and I stop talking.

"Does that mean you know where they are?" Ron asks.

"We know that they are not in England," Gawain says cautiously.

"Well, yeah," Ron says. "Obviously. But - "

Gawain turns the glare on him, and he stops in mid-sentence.

"To answer your question," Gawain says, after a moment's pause, "we don't know exactly where all of them are. What we do know is that they have evidently joined forces with a number of foreign wizards with similar leanings. Our findings have all led us to the same location."

He turns over a piece of parchment on his desk and hands it to Ron. "This information," he says quietly, "is protected by the Fidelius Charm. "I am the Secret-Keeper. I have shared what I am about to impart to you only with Harry and a few select others."

Ron glances at the parchment and then looks up at Gawain in disbelief. "Durmstrang?" he says. "But Karkaroff's dead; isn't that - "

"Karkaroff was hardly the only Dark wizard to come out of Durmstrang," Gawain says impatiently. "He was not even the most dangerous of his kind. The Dark Arts flourish there; they are encouraged, even taught in classrooms."

"Yeah, but all that's been going on for years, hasn't it?" Ron says, looking confused. "Grindelwald - and way before him, even - "

"Matters have reached the point where we can no longer turn a blind eye," Gawain says. "They are doing more than using Durmstrang as their headquarters, Weasley. They are also recruiting there."

Ron's eyes widen. "They're using the kids?" he asks. He turns to me for confirmation, and I nod.

"Even the first-years," I say. "Especially the first years. They want to get them young."

"The first-years?" Ron repeats incredulously. "That's just sick! We have to do something!"

"We are," I say, looking at Gawain.

"We had someone working with us - an infiltrator, if you will," Gawain says. "The plan was to introduce him as a professor at Durmstrang."

"Was?" Ron says alertly.

"Precisely," Gawain says. "He is, most unfortunately, no longer in a position to assist us." He smiles, but there's no humor in it. "That, Weasley, is where you come in."

"Me?" Ron says blankly. "I was never good enough in school to be a teacher - unless they want me to coach the Quidditch team or something."

"Not Quidditch, Weasley," Gawain says. "Chess."

"Chess?" Ron repeats. "That's not a class! I never heard of a chess professor."

"Chess is taken far more seriously at Durmstrang than it is at Hogwarts," Gawain tells him. "And the professor is referred to as the Chess Master."

"How do you like that?" Ron says. "The one subject I'd have managed an Outstanding in, and they didn't even bloody teach it at Hogwarts!"

"They teach a lot of things at Durmstrang that we wouldn't have wanted at Hogwarts," I remind him.

Ron looks at Gawain. "So you want me to go to Durmstrang and be a spy?" he asks eagerly. "I could do that. Mind, I don't speak the language, but - "

"They all speak English," Gawain says absently. "For security reasons, you will have to be disguised as our original choice. I'll give you his dossier to study, along with a supply of his hair and Polyjuice Potion. We'll also need to brush up on chess strategy - I recommend at least a week of intensive study." His eyes meet Ron's. "If you pull this off, Weasley, the reward will be significant." He scribbles a figure on another piece of parchment and pushes it in Ron's direction.

Ron's eyes widen. I can tell what he's thinking - he and Hermione can finally buy their house. But he hasn't heard the rest of the plan yet. "Tell him," I say quietly to Gawain.

Gawain sighs. "The utmost discretion will be required," he tells Ron. "No one will know where you are going. You will simply disappear. You will not make contact with anyone. You will send no owls, and you will use a Patronus Charm only if threatened by dementors. After a short time, this Office will make sure that you are spotted in the opposite part of the world."

"Right," Ron says. "Suppose you'll want me to leave you a bit of my hair for Polyjuice, then?"

He's not getting it. "Ron," I say. "He means _no one_. No one except me and Gawain."

"Well, and Hermione, of course," Ron says. "But she won't tell anyone."

I've always sort of known that Ron tells Hermione far more than he's strictly supposed to about his missions for the Auror Department. "You tell Ginny stuff, too," he'd said when I called him on it. And it's true that I do tell her some things, but I'm nowhere near as bad as Ron. Hermione might just as well be an Auror - she knows our code words and everything. I know we can trust her, but if Gawain ever found out…

"No," Gawain's saying. "You can't tell Hermione. The whole mission could be in jeopardy. In fact, for her safety, it would be best if you could manage to stage a quarrel with her. That way she wouldn't be expected to know your whereabouts, and - "

"No," Ron says flatly.

Gawain stares. "What did you say?" he asks.

"I said no," Ron repeats. "I won't do that to Hermione. I'm not going to let her think I've left her."

"There are more important things at stake here than your marriage, Weasley!" Gawain snaps. "You can make things up to her when you return. You will also have to simulate a break with your family - again, for their own safety."

Ron throws me a desperate look. "Harry, I can't," he says. "You understand, don't you?"

I have a pretty good idea, yeah. I can't help thinking this has something to do with the time Ron walked out on me and Hermione during the search for the Horcruxes. She was inconsolable the whole time he was gone. I didn't think she was ever going to forgive him… but she did.

"You are underestimating the enemy, Weasley!" Gawain says sharply. "Do you think they won't go after Hermione if they think she knows something?"

"They won't know it's me," Ron argues, but I see the doubt flicker over his face.

Gawain leans forward. "I made that mistake once, too," he says quietly. "I thought my family would be safe. I was wrong."

Ron's eyes meet mine for a minute. It's more than Gawain's ever said about his family before.

"If she's going to be in danger, she ought to go into hiding," Ron says, folding his arms. "She won't like it - not with all these projects she's got going on - but - "

"She won't be in danger if you follow my instructions!" Gawain interrupts, looking impatient.

"What, let her think I've left her? I won't do it!" Ron says furiously.

"What if he only told her part of it?" I suggest.

"No," Gawain and Ron say at the same time.

"Just hear me out, okay?" I say. "Ron can tell Hermione that he's got to go away, and he can't tell her where or why. Then - "

"The utmost discretion is required!" Gawain snaps. "Which word didn't you understand, Potter?"

"Then, if she agrees, they can put it about that they've decided to separate," I say. "That way no one'll expect her to know anything about where he is. If anyone asks me, I'll say Ron asked for a transfer to - to wherever you're going to make sure his double gets spotted, and that he doesn't want to hear from anybody here. I'll pretend to take Hermione's part in the quarrel."

Gawain and Ron are both staring at me in silence. "I'll bet we could even let it slip to Rita Skeeter or somebody," I say, warming up. "She'd love to get hold of something like that."

_"'Which well-known Ministry couple has split up after what many say was a too-early marriage?'"_ Ron says sarcastically. "Yeah, she'd be all over that. I'm sure my Auntie Muriel would give her a quote."

Gawain's nodding slowly. "It just might work," he says.

Ron turns to look at him, open-mouthed. "What?" he says.

Gawain glares at him. "You will tell her only what I give you permission to tell her, and not a syllable more," he says sharply. "I shall know if you disobey me."

He will, too. Ron's even worse at Occlumency than I am.

"Well?" Gawain says. "What's it to be, Weasley?"

Ron's silent.

Gawain sighs. "I will double the original offer," he says, scribbling a second figure on the parchment.

"It's not about the money," Ron says, but his eyebrows go up when he sees the number.

"If you refuse, we shall have to abandon the entire plan," Gawain says. He gives me a look that's almost helpless. I've never seen him look like that before.

"Ron, you're all we've got right now," I say. "It's got to be someone who's a really good chess player."

"Well, that rules _you_ out," Ron says to me, but his face is white and strained. "All right. I'll do it. When do I have to leave?"

"Tomorrow," I say before Gawain can say "Immediately." Gawain eyes me, clearly annoyed, but I don't think one more day's going to matter.

"Tomorrow morning at half-past nine, you will make sure that you're seen at King's Cross Station," Gawain snaps, reasserting his authority. "You will dress in Muggle clothing and carry a small suitcase. The suitcase, however, will be empty. You are to bring nothing with you except your wand. Once you have ascertained that you are not being followed, you will Disapparate and go to the safe house in the East End. There you will receive further instructions."

"Right," Ron says, looking dazed. "Can I go now? I want to see Hermione."

"Go," Gawain says testily. "And remember my orders."

Ron hurries out of the room without another word.

Gawain sighs. "I hope he's going to be all right," he says. "I don't mind telling you, he's far from being my first choice."

**Ron**

I go straight to Hermione's office, but the whole place is dark. It's after six o'clock - we've been in Gawain's office for hours. I turn around, heading for the lift. It'll be easier to talk to her at home, anyway. And I _am_ going to talk. I don't care about the damned Fidelius Charm - there's bound to be a way around that. I have to tell her the truth. It's going to be rough on her, and she deserves to know the reason for it. If I tell her about those little kids, she'll understand. Gawain doesn't know - even Harry doesn't know - but I promised Hermione, years ago when we were at Shell Cottage…

_It might have looked like spring, but the wind blowing off the sea made it feel like winter in the garden. Harry didn't notice - he was lost in his vision of You-Know-Who - but Hermione was shivering in Fleur's dressing gown. I took off my jacket and put it around her shoulders. And since it somehow felt right to do it, I left my arm around her._

_"Thanks," Hermione whispered. She leaned against me, just a little bit - which made me not mind so much that it was a hell of a lot colder out there without my jacket._

_She looked awfully pale. I thought she ought to be in bed, but I knew better than to suggest it. She wouldn't go anywhere till Harry came out of his trance and told us what he'd learned._

_Neither of us said a word. I just sat there holding her and thinking that it was a miracle she was still alive when I thought for sure I was going to lose her. I didn't know what Hermione was thinking - I never was much good at figuring out what was going on in her mind._

_Harry blinked at us, looking startled._

_"What?" Hermione said, leaning forward._

_I felt a little bit sick when he told us what You-Know-Who had done. Even for the most powerful wand in the world, I don't think I could break into a grave. Although since You-Know-Who had already gone ahead and done it, I didn't see the harm in trying to get the wand off him._

_"No," Hermione said at once._

_"But if Harry had it, he could take on anybody," I argued. "He could use it to defeat You-Know-Who; that's the point." I looked at Harry. "Do you know where he is now?"_

_Harry shook his head._

_Hermione leaned forward again and then hesitated, closing her eyes for a second. "You're done," I told her firmly. "You've got to go lie down before you collapse."_

_"I'm all right," Hermione said, but she definitely wasn't._

_"I reckon we could all do with some sleep," Harry said. "You two go on ahead. I just want to sit here for a minute." He glanced at Dobby's grave as he spoke, and I looked away uncomfortably._

_"Come on," I said to Hermione. She got up without another word and started for the house, walking slowly._

_She swayed slightly as we reached the door. "I knew this was too much for you," I told her. "Put your arms around my neck." I leaned down to pick her up._

_"I can walk," Hermione said faintly, but I didn't pay any mind and she finally stopped arguing and let me carry her into the house. I tried really hard not to think about the fact that it didn't feel like she was wearing anything under Fleur's dressing gown; focusing instead on getting us past the sitting room without anyone noticing._

_I was in luck - Luna and Bill were both sitting with their eyes closed, and Dean was helping Fleur spread blankets on the floor. I had a feeling that's where we'd end up sleeping. Not Hermione, though - she needed a proper bed after what she'd been through. I turned to the staircase._

_"You can't carry me up all those stairs," Hermione protested, but of course I could. I could have carried her all the way to Hogwarts and back and not been tired. I reached the top of the stairs and shoved the door to the smallest bedroom open with my foot._

_"This is the room I stayed in at Christmas," I said, suddenly self-conscious. I looked down at the bed where I'd set her down. "That's the bed I slept in - maybe you'd rather have the other one."_

_"This one is fine," Hermione said, leaning back against the pillows. Her face was awfully white._

_I sat down on the end of the bed. "Let's have your shoes off," I said, sounding a bit like Mum to myself but carrying on anyway. "Here's one, and - Hermione, what's this?" It was the beaded bag, still tucked into one of her socks._

_I stared at it for several seconds before I could trust myself to speak. "You're a wonder, you are," I said at last. I was sure we'd lost the Horcrux - of course, it was busted, but they'd have known, wouldn't they?_

_"It probably wasn't the best hiding place, but I couldn't think what else to do with it," Hermione said faintly. "Maybe you'd better hold onto it for a bit - just till I feel better."_

_I pulled the covers up over her and opened the bag. There was such a jumble of stuff in there that I couldn't be bothered to sort through it. _"Accio _dittany," I said, testing out Wormtail's wand. It worked pretty well - although based on what Ollivander said, I won it off Wormtail and it was bound to obey me now._

_"Why do you need dittany?" Hermione asked, struggling to sit up. "Are you hurt?"_

_"No," I said. "You are. Your throat - where Bellatrix - where she - " I couldn't say it. It was bad enough seeing it, and I hadn't been able to get the picture out of my mind ever since._

_"It's just a scratch," Hermione said, but it was a hell of a lot more than that._

_"Let me see it," I said firmly._

_For some reason, she smiled at me. "All right," she said simply. She pulled the collar of her dressing gown aside and leaned back against the pillows, hands by her sides._

_I shifted closer to her on the bed and she winced slightly. "Sorry," I said, leaning over her as carefully as I could._

_Hermione was actually sort of right. It was just a shallow cut, not the gaping wound I'd thought I'd seen before, but I wanted to look after her anyway. I had this weird sort of feeling that I owed it to her. I opened the bottle of dittany and carefully poured a few drops onto her throat._

_"That's plenty," Hermione whispered._

_"Am I doing this, or are you?" I said, but I put the stopper back in the bottle and waited. As I watched, the skin started to heal itself - but I could still see a faint pink line. Before I could stop myself, I traced it lightly with a fingertip._

_Hermione drew in her breath and I pulled my hand away as though I'd been scalded. "Sorry," I muttered again._

_"You didn't hurt me," Hermione said. "It already feels much better."_

_I tucked the covers up around her again. "I'd better let you get some sleep," I said reluctantly, but to my amazement she clutched at my hand._

_"I can't," she whispered. "I know it's silly, but every time I close my eyes I see her, standing over me. And him, too - Greyback…"_

_I looked at her helplessly. "What if I stay here till you go to sleep?" I offered. Fleur probably wasn't going to like it much, but the hell with her._

_Hermione looked at me gratefully. "You must be exhausted, too," she said._

_"I'm all right," I lied. I took her hand in mine. "Go to sleep, Hermione."_

_"You won't leave?" she whispered. "Promise?"_

_"I'll never leave you again," I said. Hermione looked at me for a minute, and it was like both of us knew I wasn't just talking about right now. I was telling her I'd never walk out on her again like I did before Christmas, and I thought - maybe - she was telling me I'd finally been forgiven for leaving._

_"Good," Hermione said softly and closed her eyes._

I love you, _I said to her silently. It came as a bit of a shock to me, but it was true. I loved her. And this was one promise I was keeping._

_I did, too - I ended up sleeping on the floor between Hermione and Luna. (I managed to duck down when Fleur came up with Luna, and luckily she never saw me.) Luna didn't care. She just said, "Oh, are you sleeping in here, too?" and then she went straight to sleep._

I've kept the promise ever since. _And I'm not about to break it now,_ I think, letting myself into the flat. _Gawain just doesn't get it._

Hermione's obviously only just got in herself. She's still in the robes she wore to work, and her insanely large carry bag is in the middle of the kitchen table. She looks at my empty hands and rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me you forgot again," she says, exasperated.

Oh yeah - I was supposed to pick up something for dinner. I don't know why she said "again" like that, because I'm usually pretty good at remembering when it's something to do with food. "Sorry," I say lamely.

"We'll just have to make do with what's here," Hermione says, turning to the larder. "I'm too tired to go out."

"I don't want anything to eat," I say.

Hermione stops looking annoyed and starts looking worried. I don't think she's ever heard me say that before. "Are you ill?" she asks, hurrying over to put a hand on my forehead. "There's a nasty cold going around at the Ministry - maybe you'd better have some Pepper-up Potion, just in case."

"I feel okay," I say. "I - Hermione, sit down for a minute. There's something I need to tell you."

Here's the thing, though. Apparently whoever came up with the Fidelius Charm knew what they were doing, because you can't tell the secret even when you want to. You literally can't. Because that's as far as I got. As soon as the first words left my mouth, I started feeling dizzy. I tried to go on, anyway, but I couldn't seem to force the words out. Then my throat closed up, and I felt like I was choking…

Everything went dark for a minute, and when I came round Hermione was hovering over me anxiously.

"You're definitely coming down with something!" she says, putting her hand on my forehead again. "Let me get my _Magical Maladies_ book; I'm sure there's something - and I think you'd better go straight to bed, and - "

If I can't manage to tell her, there's no telling what sort of vile potion she's going to force down my throat. "I'm not ill," I tell her. "It's - it's sort of a jinx, I think." I have a sudden idea. "_Accio_ quill!"

But I can't write it, either. As soon as I put the quill to the parchment, my hand seizes up with a fit of trembling.

"I have to tell you something and I can't manage it!" I say, frustrated.

Hermione's eyes narrow. "Ron, are you by any chance trying to break a Fidelius Charm?" she asks.

"Er," I say.

"You can't," Hermione says.

"I know I'm not supposed to," I say. "But - "

"No, I mean you literally can't," Hermione says. "That's how the charm works."

I'd gathered that, thanks. I wonder if maybe I can drop enough hints for her to guess - but I'll bet the charm's proof against that, too. Thought of everything, didn't they? Or maybe it was Gawain. I wouldn't put it past him to have added a few twists of his own.

I try another tack. "Hermione, you know I love you, right?" I ask. "You know you're more important to me than anything else in the world."

Hermione looks startled - maybe because I never say stuff like that unless we're in bed. "I love you, too, of course," she answers. "Ron, what in the world is going on?"

I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly against me. It's no good - how can I explain if I can't tell her anything?

"Ron, I can't breathe!" Hermione says, freeing herself. "Whatever it is, I think you'd better not try to tell me anymore!"

She doesn't get it. "You trust me, don't you?" I ask, taking her face in my hands. "You know I'd never leave you - not really."

"I know," Hermione says, her eyes meeting mine. "Is that what this is about? You need to go somewhere?"

"Yeah," I say cautiously, but this much appears to be all right with the Charm because I can still breathe.

"And you can't tell me where, or anything about it?" Hermione asks.

I nod. No point in pushing my luck.

"But why would you think I'd be afraid I'd left you?" Hermione says, half to herself.

"I wouldn't," I burst out. "I'd never - Hermione, you just have to keep trusting me, no matter what anyone says or what you hear!"

Hermione looks at me for a long moment. "I will," she says quietly. "I hate it that you're going, but I know it must be something awfully important for you to be bound by a Fidelius Charm. And I give you my word that I'll wait for you to come back."

"For as long as it takes?" I ask, just to be sure.

"For as long as it takes," Hermione confirms. Her voice turns hesitant. "Is - is it going to be very long?"

"Dunno," I say honestly. "Maybe."

Hermione edges closer to me. I put my arms around her again, and she leans her head on my shoulder. We sit like that for a long time, not talking. There's a lot more I have to tell her - if I can manage it - but for now it's enough to just sit here.

We both oversleep the next morning - neither one of us got much sleep the night before, but instead of arguing and getting in each other's way like we usually do when we're running late, we're both really quiet and gentle with each other. I think to myself that if anyone was spying on us right now, this'd be a dead giveaway that something's up.

Hermione gathers her things in silence and then pauses near the door. "Will you be here when I come home?" she asks, her voice trembling.

I can't answer. I just look at her, and she knows. Her eyes well up again.

"Don't," I say, putting my arms around her. "It's going to be all right, Hermione."

Hermione detaches herself and brushes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I kept telling myself I wasn't going to cry again," she says.

"To be honest with you, I'd feel a bit insulted if you didn't cry," I tell her, and she manages a half-smile.

"I love you," she whispers, throwing herself into my arms again.

"I love you, too," I tell her. I wish I could explain the whole thing to her, but I can't. "Just trust me," I say. "Wait for me. No matter what, okay?"

"Okay," Hermione whispers. I kiss her one last time and then she's gone.

I stare at the closed door for a couple of minutes. I've still got half an hour before I have to leave for King's Cross. Gawain said not to take anything but my wand, so it's not like I've got to pack. I wish I could leave something for Hermione - a letter or something - but when I try, my hand still won't hold a quill.

"I wasn't going to tell her anything!" I say to it, annoyed. "Just - just good-bye."

Fine. I won't write. Only I can't think what else to do. I pick up my wand and flick it idly, and almost before I know what I'm doing, I've managed to Conjure a rose. And not just any rose - it's absolutely perfect. I stare at it, feeling a bit impressed. Conjuring's never exactly been my best thing. I mean, I can do it all right, but the stuff I Conjure is usually pretty second-rate. I swear, if I'd tried for a rose on purpose, I probably would've ended up with a dandelion. It crosses my mind that Hermione might not believe it's from me when she sees how perfect it is, but probably she'll think I bought it in a shop. I try the rose in a couple of different places before I settle on the kitchen table. She always throws her bag there; she'll be sure to see it as soon as she comes in.

Pig taps at the window, startling me. He twitters around my head until I hold up a hand for him to perch on. "Pig, I've got to go away for a while," I tell him. "And you can't try to find me, all right? Stay with Hermione."

Pig hoots at me sadly and flutters into his cage. He turns his back on me and buries his head under his wing. I'm not sure if he actually understood me, or if he was on his way to take a nap anyway. Hermione says he's really intelligent, but she says that about Crookshanks, too. I look around and spot him curled up on the end of the sofa. He gives me an annoyed look when I sit down next to him. There's one occupant of this flat who's not going to miss me - he can have Hermione all to himself now.

"Look after her, Crookshanks," I say, feeling slightly idiotic. Still, you never can tell - and he did help Sirius that time. Crookshanks blinks at me and goes back to sleep. Right, then.

I take a last look around and then it's time to go.

**Harry**

I watch from under the Cloak as Ron lets himself into the safe house using the password. Gawain's waiting inside for him. I give it five minutes and then follow.

Ron looks relieved to see me. Gawain barely glances up from the rolls of parchment he's got spread out on a table. "This is the dossier on the wizard you'll be impersonating," he says to Ron. "His name is Rodney Harris, and he's a well-known chess expert. Fortunately, Mr. Harris is a widower with no children and no close relatives, so we don't expect anyone to attempt to make contact with him."

"Hasn't he got any friends?" Ron asks.

"Not close ones, no," Gawain says. "He belongs to a chess club, but he has already informed the members that he's going away for his health." He smiles humorlessly. "I can think of nowhere less conducive to good health than Durmstrang, but that's of little importance." He looks over at Ron's left hand. "It's most fortunate, him being a widower, since it will explain the presence of your wedding ring."

_Not so fortunate for poor Mrs. Harris,_ I think. I wonder what happened to her. But Gawain's going on.

"Harris had already given notice to his landlord - using the same excuse - and his personal effects have been put into storage. It's most unlikely that anyone will seek him out," he says.

"What about his job, then?" Ron persists.

"Harris is a writer," Gawain says. "He writes books about chess - or he did. The last one was published nearly five years ago, but as it's still in print, he's managed to live - rather frugally - on the proceeds."

Ron's mouth opens, but Gawain forestalls him. "All royalties are deposited directly into his account at Gringott's by his publishers," he says. "And we don't anticipate any problems with them, either - they evidently feel Harris has already said everything that needs to be said about chess, and they are not actively seeking additional manuscripts from him."

"Bit of a one-track mind, this Harris," Ron says irrepressibly. "Doesn't he have any other hobbies?"

"Er - no," Gawain admits. "I believe, however, that it would be in your best interests to see that Mr. Harris develops an interest in Quidditch. You will understand why presently. Now, in this trunk you will find an assortment of robes suitable for the climate at Durmstrang, along with a supply of chess books, teaching materials, and the like. I advise you to familiarize yourself with the contents once you have memorized the dossier. You might also begin to draw up a few lesson plans."

Ron looks alarmed. "I never - " he starts.

"Harry will assist you," Gawain says. He looks at me sideways. "I believe you've had some experience in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"It's not that hard," I tell Ron. "You just think about what you want them to learn, and then you have them practice it."

"Right," Ron says grimly. I can tell he's wishing Hermione were here.

Gawain's opening another trunk. "Here is a supply of Polyjuice Potion - enough for several months," he says. "In this box, you will find a quantity of Mr. Harris's hair. Try to make it last - it may be impossible to replenish the supply."

"Several months?" Ron repeats. "I'm not going to be in contact with anyone for that long?"

"You may very well be required to remain at Durmstrang until the term ends in June," Gawain answers. "You will, however, have regular contacts with this office - or with our affiliates. No, the short supply is entirely due to the fact that Mr. Harris hadn't much hair to spare."

Ron looks dismayed. "I'm bald?"

"It gets better," I tell him. "You're also middle-aged and a bit on the overweight side."

"You must try to remember that during your daily activities," Gawain warns him. "For example, it would be inadvisable to take the stairs two at a time as I've frequently seen you do. Try to confine your movements and mannerisms to those befitting someone older and less fit than you are yourself."

Ron nods speechlessly. "Supposing it's longer than we think," he says. "What happens if I run out of Polyjuice?"

Gawain raises an eyebrow. "Then you will make more, of course," he says. "You should have little difficulty in obtaining the necessary ingredients at Durmstrang, providing you're discreet. I assume you are familiar with the process?"

"I reckon I could manage to brew some if I had to," Ron says optimistically.

I'm not so sure, but I keep my mouth shut. It's not as though I could do any better.

"And now," Gawain says, taking out a flask. "I shall ask you to take the first dose and transform yourself into Rodney Harris."

"I thought I was staying here for a week," Ron says, looking puzzled.

"You are," Gawain says. "However, your contact at Durmstrang is due here in approximately ten minutes and he must not suspect your true identity." He holds out the flask. "Oh, and Weasley? You may wish to change into the robes provided for Harris before you transform. I suspect those jeans would be exceedingly uncomfortable on someone of his - er - stature."

Ron's eyes meet mine for a second before he turns to the trunk. I want desperately to say something, but it's impossible with Gawain still in the room. "Your Polyjuice, Weasley," he's saying now. I watch as he drops a wispy-looking piece of light brown hair into the flask. The liquid turns pale green.

There's a sharp rap at the door. "Quickly, Weasley!" Gawain says, holding out the flask. "Harry, go and stall him for a moment."

I open the door a crack. "Tell me something about yourself that no one else would know," I whisper. I risk a quick look back over my shoulder. Ron's nearly transformed.

The Durmstrang contact smiles at me. "It has been many years, Harry Potter," he says. "You vill remember, perhaps, the Yule Ball that vas given at Hogvarts? Your friend Herm-own-ninny did me the great honor of attending as my guest. She vore blue robes, did she not?"

"Come in, Viktor," I say, opening the door a bit wider.

**Ron**

I hate the way Polyjuice Potion makes me feel. There's always that moment when I'm positive I'm going to throw up, and I really don't want to do it on Gawain's shoes. Not exactly the way to impress your boss, is it? But thankfully, the feeling passes.

"Very good," Gawain says, looking me over.

I look down at myself, too. Be nice to have a mirror - no, on second thought, maybe not. Harris is bloody well starting an exercise regimen straight away. I run an appraising hand over what feels horribly like a double chin and notice that I seem to have the beginnings of a beard. Excellent, I won't have to bother shaving. I've always wanted to try a beard, but Hermione won't hear of it.

Harry's talking to the contact at the front door. Now he's shaking hands with him; they're coming in here…

Bloody hell. _"Krum?"_ I say, before I can stop myself.

Harry shoots me a warning look. "Yes?" Krum says, his voice questioning. "Ve haf met before?"

"No," I say quickly, covering. "I've seen you play Quidditch. You're an excellent Seeker."

Krum nods, apparently satisfied.

"Viktor's Quidditch skills will provide him with an excellent opportunity to visit his old school throughout the year," Gawain says, his eyes on me. "He has offered to be referee for the intra-school matches."

Harry looks up, interested. "How many houses are there at Durmstrang?" he asks.

"Ve do not separate into houses, as you do at Hogvarts," Krum says. He looks at me. "You also attended Hogvarts, Mr. Harris?" he asks.

"Call me Rodney," I say breezily. Gawain glares at me, but I ignore him. "I was there - a few years before Harry, here! And we would have been Quidditch rivals - I was a Ravenclaw." I got that much off the first page of the dossier.

"Did you play, Rodney?" Harry asks me. His eyes are suspiciously bright, and Gawain turns the glare in his direction.

"'Fraid not," I admit. "I spent most of my spare time playing chess." I didn't read that anywhere, but it stands to reason, doesn't it?

"Never mind all that," Gawain says testily. He turns to me. "Viktor Krum, as you have no doubt surmised, will be your contact while you are at Durmstrang. During his monthly visits, you will pass along any information you've gathered."

I'm not so sure I trust Krum, but I'm willing to admit I could be just a bit prejudiced. "Right," I say. "Er, what, exactly, am I looking for?"

Krum looks at Gawain, who nods. "Ve haf reason to believe that at least vun of the professors at Durmstrang is a member of the - " He makes a noise that sounds like he's clearing his throat, but maybe it was supposed to be a word.

I look inquiringly at Harry, who shrugs helplessly. "Sorry," I say. "I didn't quite catch that last bit."

Gawain gives us his tight half-smile. "The English translation is Brotherhood of Blood," he says. "It's what they're calling themselves, this time around."

Friendly little name, that. "Pureblood," I say, and Krum nods.

"Here is a list of the Durmstrang professors," he says, pulling a roll of parchment from his pocket and handing it to me. "You vill vish to familiarize yourself vith it. I can tell you vat I know about each one, but several are new since my time at Durmstrang."

Great - more stuff to memorize. I think for a second this is just the sort of thing Hermione loves, but I can't think about her right now. I can't. "Right," I say, unrolling the parchment and scanning the list of names. I'll be lucky if I can pronounce them, let alone keep them all straight. "Let's start with the headmaster."

**Harry**

It takes Krum a while to get through the list. He's put check marks next to the teachers he thinks might be Brotherhood members, and a question mark next to the ones he's not sure of. There are rather a lot of question marks, I notice, peering over Ron's shoulder. "So the Dark Arts professor might be in on it," I say. No surprises there…

"Fyodor Kirilov," Viktor says. "Yes. And the headmaster, Sergei Baranov… him, I am not so sure, but if I vere you, Harris, I vould not trust him."

Ron only nods. I notice with alarm that his eyes are definitely turning from hazel to blue… and what little hair Harris possesses is taking on an auburn tint. "Er, Gawain?" I say. "Maybe it's not a good idea for Viktor to stay here too long. Er - in case he was followed or something."

"I vas not followed," Krum assures me at once but Gawain looks from me to Ron and leaps to his feet.

"All the same, Harry's quite right," he says briskly. "You'd best be on your way, Krum. Mr. Harris, you'll see Mr. Krum again on the first of October, when Durmstrang holds its first Quidditch match of the season."

"Right," Ron says. "October's a bit early for a school Quidditch match, isn't it?"

"Not at Durmstrang," Krum says, getting to his feet. "The days in vinter are very short, and often the storms prevent us from leaving the castle."

He insists on shaking hands with all of us, even though Gawain's hovering over him in an effort to get him to leave. Finally he goes.

"Not a minute too soon," I say, once the door closes behind him. "You're already getting thinner."

"There's no point in wasting Polyjuice," Gawain says. "You can stay as yourself until the end of the week, Weasley. You won't be leaving the house, in any case." He looks over at me. "Better get him started on those lesson plans," he advises. "I can give you another half an hour, Harry, but I don't think it advisable to have you missing from the Ministry for long periods of time just now. You'd best make a point of coming in to the office for the rest of the day."

"Right," I say. "If anyone asks me where Ron is, what do you want me to say?"

Gawain considers. "I believe it would be most effective if you were a bit short with whoever asked the question," he says. "Setting the stage, as it were. Tomorrow, I shall ask Persimmon - rather loudly - about openings in the field offices in South America."

"Great," Ron says. "It sounds a lot warmer than Durmstrang. I hope whoever gets to be me enjoys himself."

Gawain looks at him for a minute. "That reminds me," he says. "Those mirrors that you two have…"

"They're perfectly safe," I argue, knowing what's coming. "If anyone else looks into it, all they see is their own reflection."

Gawain looks undecided. "And what if there's an emergency?" I add quickly. "Ron's got to have some way of getting in touch with us. We can't just expect him to wait around for the next Quidditch match if the castle's being attacked or something."

"If Durmstrang were to be attacked, I assure you we'd know about it," Gawain says dryly. "However, there is some merit to your argument. You may keep the mirrors, but I want both of you to promise that you will use them only in the most dire of circumstances."

Ron and I both promise hastily.

Gawain turns to go. "I shall return tomorrow, Weasley," he says over his shoulder. "You'll find plenty to eat in the kitchen."

I look at Ron once he's gone. "Do you want to talk about lesson plans?"

"The hell with the lesson plans," Ron says. "I'll just wing it. I know how to play chess." He looks worried, though, and I'll bet I can guess why.

"Is Hermione okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," Ron answers, not looking at me. "Well - not really, but she'll be all right. She's strong, Hermione. I just wish Gawain didn't have his mind set on this fake separation story. I tried to explain it to her, but the bloody Fidelius Charm wouldn't let me."

"She knows," I assure him. "She knows you wouldn't leave her."

"It's going to be hell for her, though," Ron says unhappily. "And what about my family? Hermione knows not to send me any owls, but I wouldn't put it past Mum to send me a Howler if she thinks we've split up. She'll blame the whole thing on me, wait and see."

I hadn't thought of that. Ron's right - Molly's not one to hold back, and a Howler would blow his cover in a heartbeat. "Would an owl even be able to find you?" I ask doubtfully. "You're not going to be Ron Weasley - you're going to be Rodney Harris."

Ron looks confused. "Dunno," he admits after a minute. "But I'm going to have to be myself sometimes, aren't I? I'm not waking up every bloody hour all night long to drink Polyjuice Potion."

"I'll have Gawain talk to your parents," I say. "He's pretty good at convincing people."

"He'll have met his match in Mum," Ron retorts, but he looks relieved. "Perdita's another one - what's Gawain going to tell her about me?"

"Dunno," I say. "Same as everyone else, I expect."

"Something's up with her," Ron says. "Have a word with Hermione - she'll fill you in."

I start to ask if Ron's seen Perdita since she abandoned him on the way to Pansy's party, but he's already moved on to a new subject.

"Harry? You'll look after Hermione for me, won't you?" he asks.

"Course I will," I say at once.

"Only don't let her know I said so, because she'll be really annoyed if she finds out," Ron cautions. "She thinks she can look after herself - and she can, obviously, but… well, you remember how she was third year, don't you?"

Only too well. "I won't let her work too hard," I say. "I'll make her come to some of Ginny's Quidditch matches - or maybe she ought to come and stay with us at Grimmauld Place."

"I tried that," Ron says. "She won't leave the flat. Just try and pry her out of the office once in a while, okay? Oh yeah, and her birthday's on the 19th of September."

"I know when Hermione's birthday is," I assure him. "Ginny and I will take her to dinner or something."

"I got her a present," Ron says, getting up and retrieving the clothes he'd been wearing when he arrived. "I thought I put it in this pocket - oh, here it is. Want to see it?"

"Okay," I say. I can't help wondering why he felt the need to bring it with him.

Ron hands me a small velvet box. I open it to find a tiny sparkling sapphire pendant on a thin gold chain.

"That's her birthstone, sapphire," Ron explains. "And it matches her engagement ring. I bought it two weeks ago in Diagon Alley. I meant to leave it for her, but I forgot. Do you think maybe you could give it to her for me?"

I look at him doubtfully. "I don't know," I say honestly. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to admit I know anything about where you're going. I can ask Gawain if you want me to, but - "

"Forget it," Ron says, reclaiming the box. "I know what he's going to say. Never mind, Harry - I'll give it to her when I come home." His face brightens. "If I can clear this up straight away, I could easily be home by Christmas."

"Sure you could," I say kindly, even though I don't think for a minute that it's going to be anywhere near that easy. "Tell you what - I'll send her some flowers anonymously. Reckon she'll know they're from you?"

"She'd better," Ron says. "I don't want any other blokes getting ideas when I'm not around. And that's another thing, Harry."

"Krum's going to be with you half the time," I say, inwardly amused. Hermione was fourteen when she dated Viktor - Ron's the only one who's not completely over it.

"Not him," Ron says. "There's this prat in her office who keeps sitting on her desk - Basil Sedgewick."

"I'll keep an eye on him," I say, unable to suppress a grin. "But I think Hermione's more than capable of keeping him in line."

"Maybe," Ron says with a dark look. "I just don't want him bothering her, that's all. She's going to have enough on her mind."

I glance at my watch and see that our half hour's up. "I've got to go," I say. "Right, so look after Hermione and warn Gawain about your mum's Howlers. Anything else?"

Ron looks startled. "You're coming back tomorrow, aren't you?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I wasn't even supposed to be here today," I tell him. "I sort of talked Gawain into it. He thinks it's not safe."

"Oh," Ron says after a minute. "Well, then… I reckon I'll see you in a few months, Harry."

"You'll be all right," I tell him.

"It's just weird doing it all on my own," Ron admits. "I've always had you or Hermione or Perdita…"

"You can do this, Ron," I say. "You're a good Auror."

"Thanks," Ron says quietly. "Well - see you, Harry!"

We exchange a brief hug - and then I slip the Invisibility Cloak over my head and go. I can't help wondering how long it's going to be before I see him again.

**Hermione**

It's strangely quiet in the flat when I wake after a restless night. I didn't sleep well without Ron next to me. It's not as though I haven't fallen asleep without him here plenty of times, because he often has to work late. But last night was different. Every little sound in the flat startled me into wakefulness - and then when I finally did drop off, I had strange dreams that left me feeling as though I hadn't closed my eyes all night.

I read the _Daily Prophet_ far more thoroughly than usual, hoping for a hint of what he might be up to, but nothing seems to fit. But there wouldn't be anything, would there? At least - nothing about an Auror mission. I wonder dully how soon it's all going to start. The rumors; the gossip… Ron warned me it might happen. At least, I think that's what he meant to say. It was a bit difficult to understand when the spell kept choking him off like that. "Just promise me you won't believe any of it," he'd said urgently, cradling my face in his hands.

I'd promised, of course. And I won't believe it; I know he only went because he had to. But where - and why? I can't help wondering if it has something to do with all those foreign wizards that showed up at Pansy's party. Russian, some of them, Ron had thought. Or Bulgarian - or possibly even German. So he could be in any of those countries, couldn't he? And he said he was the only one who could do whatever-it-is he's doing, but naturally he couldn't tell me any more than that. I can think of any number of things that Ron's quite good at, but certainly he can't speak any foreign languages, or -

An owl taps briskly at the window and I go to open it. I can't help hoping it's from Ron, even though he'd warned me he wouldn't be able to write. But I can tell at a glance that it's not his writing.

The letter, as it turns out, is from Michael Corner - and it doesn't sound like good news.

_Can you come to the lab at St. Mungo's straight away?_ I read. _We have a big problem._

Oh no. The full moon's coming up; we've got to start everyone on Wolfsbane Potion by tomorrow at the latest. I scribble _"on my way"_ on the back of Michael's note and hand it to the waiting owl.

Despite my hurry, I can't resist stopping to lightly stroke the petals of the red rose that's now standing in a water glass on my bedside table. It was so sweet of Ron to leave it for me - although I can't think how he managed to Conjure such a perfect one.

The lab at St. Mungo's is actually underground. Lots of people don't even know it exists. I've been there once before, with Marvin, and I was impressed by the neat efficiency and the shining vials of potions lined up in endless rows on the glass shelves.

Today it doesn't even look like the same place. "What on earth happened?" I gasp, looking at the shattered glass and pools of mingled potion ingredients littering the floor.

"Vandals, that's what," Michael says grimly. "Someone broke in last night and trashed the place."

Other wizards in white laboratory robes are starting to come in now, and all of them look stunned and dismayed when they see the damage. Someone's already sent for Security, and a middle-aged witch is loudly determined that the Aurors ought to be called in. I turn my face away before she can recognize me and insist that I send for Harry Potter.

Michael draws me to one side. "Notice anything strange?" he asks in a low voice.

I look around. "I've only been here once," I point out.

"These sections here are where we store ingredients for hospital potions," Michael says, pointing to an area that looks completely untouched. "Over here is where we brew them." That part of the lab, too, looks pristine.

"At first glance, it looks as though the whole place was smashed up," Michael says. "But when I looked more closely, I realized that all of the damage is confined to a specific area."

I'm almost afraid to ask. "The Wolfsbane?" I half-whisper.

"The Wolfsbane," Michael confirms. "I was brewing it right there." He points to the remains of what must have been a table. "That's my work area - or it was, anyway."

Several of the white-robed wizards have drawn closer to what's left of Michael's work area. "Bloody hell, Corner," one of them says over his shoulder. "Reckon a few of those werewolves decided to help themselves?" He laughs loudly at his own joke, but I notice that no one else seems amused.

"It's not funny, Byron," the witch who'd wanted to send for the Aurors says angrily. "Vandalism is not a laughing matter."

"Lighten up, Alison," Byron snaps. "I didn't mean anything by it, except that whoever it was that did this was obviously after one thing." He looks meaningfully at Michael.

"Have they been giving you a hard time about brewing the Wolfsbane?" I whisper guiltily.

"Most of them are all right with it," Michael answers, not troubling to keep his voice down. "There're a few nutters like Byron who think all werewolves ought to be done away with, but no one's tried to sabotage my work - until now." He shoots Byron a suspicious look.

"Here, I didn't have anything to do with it!" Byron protests nervously. "I was home all night - ask my wife if you don't believe me!"

Luckily a diversion is caused by the entrance of the security guard. He immediately begins examining the locks on the door.

"It's locked with a password," the witch called Alison tells him. "No one knows it except the people who work in the lab, and we change it every week."

"The door hasn't been broken down," the guard says. His eyes sweep the faces of the lab workers and then come to rest on me. "Who're you?" he demands.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," I say, using my most official voice. "I'll be needing a copy of your report."

The guard nods, easily satisfied, but Byron gives me a sharp look. "Not an Auror, are you?" he asks. "You look familiar."

"She's an old friend of mine from school," Michael says. "She's been down here before."

"An old friend," Byron repeats slowly. "Girlfriend, is she?" His eyes linger on my wedding ring.

Honestly. I turn my back on him. "You're quite sure the door was locked when you left last night?" I ask the others. "Who was the last to leave?"

"I was," Michael answers. "And the door locks automatically behind us. If someone got in here after me, they knew the password."

"Or they got in here earlier and then stayed hidden until you left," I say. The security guard looks impressed with my logic and scribbles something down on a scrap of parchment.

"It's a shame, after all your hard work, Michael," Alison says. "I suppose we ought to get this mess cleaned up." She pulls out her wand.

"Wait!" I say. "There might be a clue."

"They know their stuff in Magical Law, don't they?" the security guard says. "Right you are, Miss - there might be something here that'd tell us who did it!" He bends eagerly over the chaos on the floor.

"Not just Magical Law," I hear Alison whisper to another wizard (not Byron, thankfully). "You know who she is, don't you?"

"Alison, would you give us a hand here?" Michael says quickly. Alison looks briefly disappointed but hurries over.

We take it slowly, performing the _Reparo_ Charm on one object at a time. The potion ingredients are useless - Michael says they've been contaminated. "Some potions it wouldn't matter, but this one's got to be made under carefully controlled conditions," he explains. "We're going to have to start over."

I look at him, dismayed. "How long will it take?" I ask.

"We won't be able to distribute the potion tomorrow like we'd planned," Michael says. "Neville said he'd given me the last of the sopophorous plant leaves - and you can see what's happened to them." He points ruefully to a pile of crushed herbs on the floor that look as though someone's ground a muddy boot heel into them. "It's a key ingredient - I can't leave it out."

"Definitely a man's footprint," the security guard says eagerly. "Don't you agree, Miss?"

"I - I suppose so," I say. I can't really tell, and I don't suppose narrowing it down by fifty percent of the wizarding population makes much difference. I have a feeling I know who's responsible, anyway. "I think I'd better go and find Neville," I say to Michael. "Maybe he knows where he can get more sopophorous leaves."

Michael glances over his shoulder at the ruined mess that was once his work area. "I might just as well go with you," he says. "I'm not going to be able to get anything else done today." He flicks his wand in the direction of the mess on the floor. _"Evanesco!"_

"Here, I wasn't finished with that lot," the security guard protests.

Alison's trying to repair the work table, but it keeps collapsing. "It's no good," she says sadly. "You'll need to request a new one from Supplies."

"Yeah, that'll only take a few months to go through," Michael says sourly. "Thanks for trying, Alison." He turns to the door. "Come on, Hermione!"

"There, what did I tell you?" I hear Alison whisper. "How many _Hermiones_ do you think there are at the Ministry?"

"What about the report, Miss?" the guard calls after us.

"Send it to the Department of Magical Law," I say. "Addressed to Mr. Basil Sedgewick." That ought to keep Basil busy for awhile.

Michael and I separate outside the lab. I find a quiet corner to send Patronuses to Neville and Andromeda, while Michael goes in search of Marvin and Augustus Pye.

It turns out that Marvin couldn't leave the hospital, and Andromeda had to bring Teddy to the Burrow so Molly could look after him, but in less than half an hour we're all gathered at the Leaky Cauldron. I do a quick _Muffliato_ Charm and fill everyone in.

"I don't get it," Augustus Pye says blankly. "Who would want to destroy the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Neville says promptly. "Only I guess it couldn't have been him. I reckon the Aurors are watching him pretty closely, aren't they, Hermione?"

"I expect so," I say noncommittally. Lucius was my first thought, too. I don't suppose he actually did it in person, but I'm sure he knows all about it. The face of the wizard in the dark-green robes floats through my mind. Ron said he told Gawain about him…

"Have you sent a message to Ron yet?" Neville asks, much to my dismay.

"I'm not bothering Ron about this," I say firmly. "Harry, either. We can't prove anything."

Neville gives me an odd look, but fortunately decides not to pursue it. "So we'll need to start all over again," he says. "I'd started another set of sopophorous plants, but they're just barely showing above the ground. They won't have leaves for weeks yet."

"The plant's not as rare as all that, is it?" Andromeda asks. "I remember using the beans fairly often in Potions class."

"That's just it," Neville explains. "The beans are normally what everyone wants, so the leaves get discarded. Each plant only produces beans once during its life cycle - and they normally bloom in early spring. It's just the wrong season." He looks thoughtful. "There're a couple of greenhouses I could check with - "

"What about Professor Sprout?" I interrupt.

Neville's round face brightens. "She might have a few, at that," he admits. "I'll send her a Patronus right now." He starts to pull out his wand, but I stop him.

"Don't do it here," I warn. "I don't want anyone to know what we're up to." Neville nods and hurries into the back room.

"Won't they all know when you start making the potion?" Andromeda asks. "What if the same person comes back and destroys everything again?"

"They won't," Michael says grimly. "I'll stay in the lab all night if I have to."

Neville's coming back. "She said she's got plenty, and I can help myself," he reports happily. "I'll just go along to Hogwarts, and I can meet you back at the lab, Michael."

"Not the lab," I say quickly. "I don't think it's safe."

The others all stare at me. "I know it's not ideal, Hermione, but we need access to a full range of potion ingredients," Michael says.

"We'll do it at Hogwarts," I say. "Slughorn won't mind if we use his classroom - I don't think."

Neville grins at me. "If we bring him some candied pineapple, he'll definitely say yes," he says.

"If Hermione autographs one of her Chocolate Frog cards for him, he might even offer to help us," Michael says cynically, but he's smiling too.

"I'll help, too," I say.

"So will I," Andromeda says. "It's been a few years, but Potions was one of my best subjects."

"It was my worst," Neville says promptly. "I'll stick to the plant-gathering bit."

"Wish I could go with you, but my shift starts in less than an hour," Augustus says wistfully. "It's a brilliant idea, doing it at Hogwarts. Even Lucius Malfoy wouldn't dare try to break in there."

"We don't know it was him," I caution.

"Come on, Hermione," Neville says. "Who else would it be?"

**Harry**

Gawain's waiting for me in his office when I get back to the Ministry. "I'll handle it," he says, when I tell him what Ron said about Molly.

"You might be better off telling the Weasleys what Ron told Hermione," I suggest.

"The less people that know, the better," Gawain answers. "I said I'd handle it, Harry."

I give up, but I can't help wondering if Gawain knows Molly Weasley as well as he thinks he does.

"Now, what were you and Weasley able to learn about the foreign wizards at Miss Parkinson's party the other night?" Gawain asks.

"Not much," I admit. "They're all from pureblood families, they're all pretty well-off financially, and none of the families have any obvious ties to either the former Death Eaters or to the Brotherhood of Blood."

"That is precisely what I expected you to find," Gawain says calmly. "Excellent. Now, with Weasley out of the picture, we'll need you to take over with young Draco Malfoy. You may relieve Jackson at two o'clock, and - "

"I'm not going to learn much just following him," I interrupt. "From what everyone says, he doesn't have much to do with any of his old friends."

"You have a better idea?" Gawain asks.

"I want to do something to draw him out," I say slowly. "I'm not sure what, yet."

Gawain nods. "You'll have more than enough time for reflection while you're on surveillance," he remarks.

He's right about that, but sitting on the wall outside Malfoy Manor for the next few days doesn't seem to give me any bright ideas. Mostly I worry about what I'm going to say to Ginny when she finds out Ron's gone. So far I've been lucky - she's been so tired from Quidditch practice that she can hardly keep her eyes open after dinner, but she'll have this coming weekend off and she's bound to suggest that we invite Ron and Hermione to dinner or something.

**Ron**

The next several days pass excruciatingly slowly. I spend most of the time looking through the stuff in the trunk and missing Hermione. I get so bored I even read all of Harris's chess books. They're actually not bad, even though he writes like he's sort of stuck on himself.

It's dull enough when I'm by myself, but it's almost worse when Gawain's here. He alternates quizzing me on chess strategies with drilling me on the little we've managed to learn about Durmstrang. It sort of reminds me of being around Hermione at exam time, except that Gawain's nowhere near as cute.

"And the name of the Potions Mistress?" he asks, holding the list so I can't see it.

"Dorika Something," I say. "And they call it Potions and Concoctions, not just Potions."

"Dorika Balog," Gawain says, ignoring my last remark. "And the Arithmancy master?"

I've no idea. "There's not much point in memorizing their names if I don't know anything about them," I protest.

"You know which ones are suspected members of the Brotherhood of Blood," Gawain says relentlessly.

"The Arithmancy bloke isn't," I say. "Neither's Dorika. The ones Krum thinks might be in the Brotherhood are the Headmaster, the Dark Arts teacher, the Astronomy teacher, and the woman who teaches Ancient Runes."

Durmstrang doesn't seem to have as many subjects as Hogwarts. They have Charms and Transfiguration, but not Divination, Muggle Studies or History of Magic. Divination's no big loss in my opinion, and I can understand why a school with a purebloods-only policy wouldn't be fussed about Muggle Studies, but I don't know why they haven't got History of Magic. (Mind, I mostly slept through it myself, but Hermione seemed to get quite a bit out of it.) They don't have Care of Magical Creatures either, but there's something called Dangerous Beasts that sounds like Hagrid all over.

Gawain looks down at the list and opens his mouth again. "Why don't they teach History of Magic?" I say quickly, before he can ask another question.

Gawain looks blank. "I don't know," he says after a minute. "Odd, isn't it?"

I take advantage of his distraction. "What I could really use is a map of the school," I say. "Couldn't you get Krum to draw one for me?"

"He has already provided one," Gawain says. "Why haven't you been studying it?"

"I've been through everything in that trunk a dozen times," I protest. "There's no map."

Gawain strides over to the trunk and pulls out _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_. "I read that one," I say at once, even though I actually only skimmed it looking for the bits about Durmstrang. There wasn't much - and what there was, wasn't exactly encouraging.

"It's right here," Gawain says impatiently, opening the front cover and pointing to a blank page. "It - oh. Quite. I'd forgotten that I took the precaution of making it invisible."

I've never seen Gawain look embarrassed before, but he recovers quickly. "Here you are," he says, giving the page a quick tap with his wand and passing the book over. "See that you memorize it thoroughly - and be careful to restore the page to invisibility at all times when you are not actively using it. They're bound to go through your things."

"They are?" I ask, startled. That hadn't occurred to me - I thought I'd be all right just locking my trunk. "What do I do about the Polyjuice, then?"

"Transfigure it, of course," Gawain says impatiently. "Are you an Auror or not?"

I don't say what I'd like to, because he's my boss. "Right," I say instead. I look down at the map. Durmstrang's not very big, compared to Hogwarts - only four floors. I can't tell about the grounds, because Krum evidently didn't think it was worth including them. Maybe there isn't much outside space - only there's got to at least be a Quidditch pitch.

"We had best go over your final instructions," Gawain says, looking at his watch. "I shall not be seeing you again before your departure tomorrow."

I never thought I'd miss Gawain, but suddenly I don't want him to go. "Haven't you got time for a quick game of chess first?" I ask.

"Unfortunately not," Gawain says. "Now, you know what to do tomorrow?"

"Take a double dose of Polyjuice and bring my trunk to the Department of International Magical Cooperation," I recite obediently. "A Portkey has been arranged to take me to Moldova. Krum will meet me there and escort me to Durmstrang." I don't know if this means Durmstrang's in Moldova, or if it's just a convenient stopping-off place. I'm not even sure where Moldova is, to be honest.

"Precisely," Gawain says. He holds out his hand. "Good luck, Weasley, and be careful. The success or failure of this mission rests solely with you."

So no pressure, right? "I'll be in touch," I say, shaking his hand.

"I look forward to your reports," Gawain answers. He turns and goes, leaving me alone with a map, a trunk, and several months worth of Polyjuice Potion. 

**Harry**

"It looks as though Hermione's Wolfsbane Project got off to a good start yesterday," Ginny remarks, turning a page in the _Daily Prophet_. She frowns. "What do they mean, 'despite attempted sabotage'? What happened?"

I'm not quite awake yet - I had the late shift at Malfoy Manor - but this brings my eyes all the way open in a hurry. "I've no idea," I admit, leaning closer to read over her shoulder.

"_'A break-in at the laboratory where the Wolfsbane Potion was being manufactured left the members of the Remus Lupin Foundation scrambling for a replacement product at the eleventh hour',_" I read. "_'Fortunately, they were able to pull together and replace the damaged potion in time for this month's full moon. Hermione Weasley, speaking for the Foundation, declined to name the location where the Wolfsbane is now being brewed.'_"

"Well, Ron certainly must have known about it," Ginny says, setting the paper aside. "Why didn't he say something to you?"

"He's been away," I say evasively.

"Auror stuff?" Ginny asks.

I nod, thankful that Ginny doesn't probe for details. "We ought to have Hermione over for dinner or something if she's on her own," she says. "Maybe this weekend - unless he'll be back by then?"

"I'm not sure when he's coming back," I say. At least that much is the truth.

"I wonder why Hermione didn't send for you, then?" Ginny says, puzzled.

I can't help wondering the same thing. "I'm not sure, but I'm definitely going to ask her about it," I say, getting up. I lean over to kiss Ginny. "I'll see you tonight."

"Ask her to come to dinner Saturday," Ginny calls after me.

Gawain's not in his office, but Persimmon nods when I ask about the Wolfsbane Project. "Someone broke into the lab at St. Mungo's and destroyed all they had made," she says, waving the _Daily Prophet_ at me. "Hermione's such a lovely girl - I was so pleased that she managed to replace it."

"Didn't we investigate?" I ask.

"Perdita took it," Persimmon answers. "Her husband is one of the Healers helping out, you know."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "Thanks, Persimmon."

Perdita's at her desk for once, but she barely looks up when I come over. "Whatever it is, I can't take it on right now," she says. "I've enough to handle just now."

"I don't need anything," I say, feeling a bit startled at her curt tone. Perdita and I have always gotten on well. "I just wanted to ask about the break-in at St. Mungo's."

"Nothing to tell," Perdita says with a shrug. "Whoever it was left no evidence, and the door hadn't been forced. The lab workers use a password to gain entry, and they admit themselves they're not terribly careful about making sure they aren't overheard. Anyone could have waited around the corner and listened for it."

This, unfortunately, is all too true. "So what did you do?" I ask.

"Advised them to be more careful with their passwords, and recommended that hospital security patrol the area more regularly," Perdita says. "Was there anything else, Harry? I'm a bit busy just now."

"No, thanks, " I say, feeling a bit snubbed. Ron's right; something's definitely up with Perdita.

"Why didn't you ask Ron?" she calls after me. "He must know just as much about it as I do."

Hasn't she even noticed he hasn't been around? "Have a word with Hermione - she'll fill you in," Ron had said. I decide there's no time like the present and make my way to Hermione's office.

Hermione gives me a distracted smile as I approach her desk. She looks tired, but otherwise all right.

"What happened at St. Mungo's?" I ask without preamble.

_"Muffliato,"_ Hermione says hastily, looking around. "Keep your voice down, Harry - I don't want to draw attention to the break-in just now. The new Werewolf legislation is going in front of the Wizengamut today."

It's more than likely that most of the people on the Wizengamut read this morning's _Prophet_, but I let it go. "Why didn't you send for me?" I demand.

"Because there wasn't anything you could have done," Hermione answers. "There was no way to prove who was responsible - although I'm sure Lucius Malfoy had something to do with it."

"Not in person, he didn't," I say. "We've had a tail on him since he came back."

"Then he had someone else do it," Hermione says, undeterred. "Probably that wizard in dark-green from the board meeting."

Who? It strikes me that Hermione and I have a bit of catching up to do. "Next time something like this happens, tell me, all right?" I say.

Hermione gives me an odd look. "Do you think there's going to be a next time?" she asks.

Probably, but I don't like to say so. "Just be careful," I say lamely. "Were you there when they discovered the break-in?"

Hermione shakes her head. "Michael Corner sent me an owl," she says. "And Marvin said Perdita went by and talked to the laboratory staff, and she came to the same conclusion. We'll just have to be more careful from now on."

"Yeah," I say. "About Perdita - "

"You've noticed it too, then?" Hermione says.

"Hard to miss," I say. I swallow hard and then add, "Ron said you knew something about it. Can you fill me in?"

Hermione's eyes meet mine. "You talked to Ron?"

"Not recently," I say quickly.

Hermione turns away, biting her lip, and I hastily pretend interest in a framed certificate on her cubicle wall that states that Hermione Jean Weasley is certified in Magical Law.

"You know, it's funny," I say. "For years I thought your second name was Jane."

"So did I," Hermione answers, a bit cryptically. I decide she can't have been listening to me - a fact that's confirmed by her next question.

"Harry?" she asks in a half-whisper. "Do you - do you know where he is?"

No need to ask who she means. "I'm not the Secret-Keeper, Hermione," I say gently.

"I don't expect you to tell me anything," Hermione answers. "It just makes me feel better, knowing that you know. If that makes any sense."

"It does, oddly enough," I say. I'm relieved to have gotten through it so easily.

"Now, about Perdita," Hermione says briskly. "Ron sent Charlie a letter asking about Perdita's family disowning her. Charlie was in Perdita's class at Hogwarts, so we thought he might know something about it. His answer didn't come till this morning." She reaches into her enormous carry-bag and pulls out an envelope, handing it to me.

_Dear Ron and Hermione,"_ I read.  
><em>I'll gladly tell you everything I know, but it's too long of a story to write. I'll come to your fire at eight o'clock Thursday night. Send a Patronus if it's not convenient - otherwise I'll see you then.<br>Charlie_

"Thursday's tonight," I say, looking up.

"Yes," Hermione says. "Can you come?"

For a minute I wasn't sure she was going to ask me. "I'll be there," I tell her. "Hermione, I - "

Someone's hurrying over to Hermione's desk, calling her name.

"Oh, Basil," Hermione says, looking anxious. "How did it go?"

"Didn't pass, I'm afraid," a man says from behind me. "Bad luck, my dear! You'll have to tweak it a bit if you want it to get by that lot. Some of them are a bit old-fashioned, you know."

I turn to see a wizard who looks to be a few years older than I am. He's dressed in expensive-looking robes and looks like he spends a great deal of time on personal grooming, but his face is fairly intelligent. "Hello," he says to me, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "It's Harry Potter, isn't it?"

"Yes," I say, offering my hand.

"Basil Sedgewick," the wizard informs me, beaming. "I'm a colleague of Hermione's."

Sedgewick - he's the one Ron doesn't like. I'm tempted to ask him to have a seat, just to see if he perches on Hermione's desk, but I think better of it. "I'd better be going," I say to Hermione. "I'll see you later."

She nods, already reaching for quill and parchment. "How many voted against it?" she asks Sedgewick. "Do you think it's worth re-introducing it next week?"

I'd meant to ask her to come and stay with me and Ginny till Ron gets back, but I don't want to mention it in front of Sedgewick. I hesitate in the doorway for a moment, but the two of them are intent on their discussion. _I'll ask her tonight,_ I decide, turning away. I'm due at Malfoy Manor in about ten minutes; I'd better be on my way.

**Ron**

I'm nervous about going to Durmstrang, but I'm so bored by the end of the week that going _anywhere_ sounds good to me. I choke down an extra-strong dose of Polyjuice Potion and put the flask carefully into the pocket of my robes. I hope there's going to be a way to top off discreetly - I don't want my students to think I've got a sherry problem like Trelawney.

Time to go. I take a last look around to make sure I haven't forgotten anything; then put a Locomotor Charm on my trunk and head for the Ministry.

I linger in the Atrium, hoping to see Hermione, but it's well after nine and no one's about except for the security guards.

"Ah yes, Mr. Harris," the guard at the desk says when I approach him. "Mr. Percy Weasley in the Department of International Magical Cooperation is expecting you. Just take the lift to Level Five."

Percy? I wasn't expecting that. The way Percy talks about his job, I'd have expected him to be far too important to do things like arrange for foreign Portkeys. It's going to be fun, putting one over on him. I get on the lift, already feeling in a better mood.

Percy's waiting for me when I get off. "Mr. Harris?" he says, holding out his hand. "I'm Percy Weasley. We just have a few questions before you go, if you don't mind."

That's a bit weird, isn't it? Hermione and I go to Australia to visit her parents every year, and I don't remember anyone ever being fussed about it. Maybe it's different with Portkeys. Or maybe it's because I'm going to Moldova. I hope he doesn't ask me anything about it, because I'm going to look like an awful idiot.

Percy's questions, as it turns out, have nothing to do with Moldova. "Normally we don't involve ourselves in this sort of thing," he says, glancing almost nervously over his shoulder. "Magical Transportation usually - but you don't care about all that! What piqued our interest, Mr. Harris, is your final destination."

_Piqued?_ I think, for about the millionth time, that my brother really is a prat. "My final destination?" I repeat, stalling for time. I don't know if the Ministry knows that Harris is going to teach at Durmstrang or not.

"Durmstrang Institute," Percy says.

Oh. I guess they do know. "I'm going to be the Chess teacher," I explain.

"Yes, we know," Percy says. "Interesting subject to offer in a school, isn't it? It's a pity they didn't have it at Hogwarts - my youngest brother might have managed at least _one_ Outstanding OWL." He allows himself a tiny smile.

_Bite me, Percy._ "I'd much prefer teaching at Hogwarts myself," I answer, managing to return the smile. "I've heard that Durmstrang isn't very well heated." I actually remember that from Krum telling Hermione, years ago, but Percy doesn't need to know that.

"Yes?" Percy says eagerly. "What else have you heard about it?"

"Nothing much, really," I say. "They like their privacy, evidently."

"But how did you come to be offered the position?" Percy asks.

I think about saying that I answered an ad, but then he'll want to know where I saw it and we'll be here all bloody day. "A friend of a friend recommended me," I say, purposely vague. "Not to rush you, Mr. Weasley, but I'm expected in Moldova."

"Yes, of course," Percy says, looking flustered. "Right this way, please!"

He leads me into a small, stuffy conference room. There's an empty butterbeer bottle sitting in a leather chair.

"That?" I ask, pointing to it.

"Yes," Percy says. "Now, Mr. Harris - "

"I'd best be on my way, then," I interrupt. I start to reach for the bottle, then feel a sudden urge to get Percy back for the OWL comment. After all, it's going to be a while before I see him again. I turn to look at him. "Your name sounds awfully familiar," I say slowly.

Percy beams importantly. "Well, I'm quite well-known in the Department," he says.

"No, it's not that," I say. I pause for a minute and then say, "Are you any relation to that _famous_ Weasley? You know, the one who helped Harry Potter destroy Voldemort?"

Percy's smile disappears. "My youngest brother," he says shortly.

"Ah, yes," I say, smiling broadly at him. "The one who didn't get any Outstanding OWLs?"

Percy nods briefly. "About Durmstrang - " he starts.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Weasley," I say quickly. "Goodbye!" I grasp my trunk with one hand and touch the butterbeer bottle with the other.

**Hermione**

"It's nearly eight," Harry says, looking at his watch. "Charlie should be here any minute."

I nod. "Would you like a glass of wine or something?" I ask. "Or I could make a pot of tea."

"No, I'm all right," Harry says. He glances past me into the tiny kitchen. "Is that all you had for dinner? Tea?"

I look over, too. The lone teacup left over from breakfast is the only thing in the drain board. "No, of course not," I say. _I didn't have anything._

Harry looks at me. "I went out," I say quickly. _For lunch._ The truth is, I never even thought about dinner. I brought the revision of the new Werewolf legislation home with me, and I've been working on it ever since. I hadn't realized how late it was until Harry arrived.

Harry looks like he doesn't believe me, but mercifully doesn't comment. "Tell me how you managed to get the Wolfsbane ready in time," he says instead.

I smile at him. "Hogwarts," I say simply. "Everyone helped - even Professor Slughorn."

Harry grins back at me. "I should've known," he says. "Are you doing it there next month as well?"

I shake my head. "All the students will be there by then," I remind him. "No, we'll find somewhere else. But I don't think we'll chance the St. Mungo's lab again, even if they _have_ got extra security on."

"You said something about a wizard in dark-green," Harry reminds me, and I tell him about the board meeting I attended.

"Ron said he told Gawain," I add at the end.

Harry only nods, not quite meeting my eyes. I suppose he's afraid I'm going to ask about Ron. I'm not - I know better - only -

Much to my relief, Charlie picks this moment to arrive in the fireplace. "Are you two home?" he calls. "Oh, hi, Hermione. Where's Ron?"

"Working," I say. "I asked Harry to join us, though."

Charlie peers sideways through the flames. "There you are, Harry," he says, smiling cheerfully. "Didn't see you for a minute. How's married life, then?"

"Brilliant," Harry says, grinning back. "You ought to try it sometime."

"About Perdita," I interrupt. I don't want to think about anyone's happy marriage just now.

"Right," Charlie says, his smile fading. "Ron didn't explain much in his letter - he just said something was going on and he wanted to know the whole story about her family."

"There seems to be something troubling Perdita lately," I say. "Ever since her brother came back, she - "

"Her brother?" Charlie interrupts, looking startled. "Jeremy?"

Harry and I exchange looks. "Did you know him?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, I knew him," Charlie says grimly. "Jeremy Gamp is seriously bad news."

"I've never heard of him before," Harry protests. "We keep track of all known and suspected Dark Wizards."

"He wasn't a Death Eater," Charlie answers. "He doesn't like to get his hands dirty, our Jeremy. But I'd be willing to bet my last Galleon he'd have come back and declared his support for Voldemort if the Battle at Hogwarts had gone the other way."

"Maybe you'd better start at the beginning," I say. "He's Perdita's older brother?"

Charlie shakes his head. "Her twin," he corrects. "They don't look anything alike; they're - what d'you call it - er - "

"Fraternal," I say. "Go on."

"Jeremy was sorted into Slytherin, and Perdita into Ravenclaw," Charlie says. "I don't expect anyone would've thought a thing about it, except that Jeremy made a scene. He insisted that the Sorting Hat had made a mistake, and that Perdita needed to go back and try it on again. Well, you can imagine how well that went over with McGonagall!" He grins again, and this time I smile back. I don't suppose she was terribly pleased.

"He made such a fuss that Perdita finally went back and tried on the Hat again - and of course it said 'Ravenclaw' straight off," Charlie continues. "Jeremy didn't say anything else at the time, but he never forgave Perdita for it. He told her she must secretly be a blood traitor, and that the Sorting Hat had picked up on it. After that he used to watch her all the time - it was a bit creepy, actually. You'd be talking to Perdita after class or something, and then you'd look up and see Jeremy, just staring at you. I wasn't afraid of him - I could have knocked him down as easy as anything - but a lot of other people were. He'd follow her about on Hogsmeade weekends, too - it made everyone uncomfortable, and after awhile Perdita didn't have many friends. That suited Jeremy just fine, of course - he'd invite her to hang out with his gang of Slytherins, but she didn't like them much."

I shiver slightly, imagining it. "What happened when she started going out with Marvin?" I ask.

"They kept it secret for a long time," Charlie answers. "Most of the Ravenclaws knew, of course, and a few people from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had caught on, but nobody wanted to say anything for fear of provoking Jeremy. It wasn't so much Perdita having a boyfriend - it was because Marvin's a Muggle-born. Jeremy was big on that sort of thing - he wouldn't even hang out with half-bloods; let alone anyone who came from a Muggle family." He sighs. "Anyway, Jeremy finally found out in the beginning of our seventh year. He caught them together in the Three Broomsticks one day and he nearly tore the place apart. He called her a blood traitor and a - well, you can probably guess what else. Rosmerta had him thrown out and forbade him to ever come back, but the damage was done. Next morning at breakfast Perdita got a Howler from her parents. The whole Hall heard it, of course - it was a bit hard to miss."

"Let me guess," Harry says. "Give up your Muggle-born boyfriend, or you're no longer our daughter?"

"That was the gist of it," Charlie agrees. "Although they didn't call him anything as polite as 'Muggle-born'. The whole place went silent - you could've heard a feather drop. And Perdita - " He smiles, remembering. "She was brilliant, she was."

"What'd she do?" I say impatiently.

"She stood up on a bench and announced to the whole school that she was proud to be a blood traitor, and that going forward no one was to address her as Perdita Gamp," Charlie says. "Then she pulled Marvin up beside her and kissed him in front of everyone. The whole place went wild. Everybody was yelling and applauding - all except the Slytherins, of course."

"And Jeremy?" Harry asks.

"Jeremy got up, really slowly, and started forward," Charlie says. "The Hall got quiet again, and some of the teachers were looking a bit nervous. Dumbledore got to his feet and called to him, but Jeremy just kept walking, straight out the door. He packed his things and left that same day."

"He left school over _that_?" I say incredulously. "But it was his NEWT year!"

"His parents sent him to Durmstrang to finish out the year," Charlie says. "I don't mind telling you, we all breathed a bit easier when he was gone. Last I heard, he'd settled in France or something."

"Durmstrang?" Harry asks sharply. "You're quite sure of that?"

"Positive," Charlie answers. "He sent letters to some of his old friends in Slytherin telling them how much better it was, being at a school that only admitted purebloods."

I don't care what Jeremy Gamp did. "And what happened to Perdita?" I ask.

"She changed her name to Duckworthy - it was her gran's name or something, I think - and she and Marvin got engaged at the end of seventh year," Charlie answers. "She didn't seem to mind being disowned - I always got the impression that her parents favored Jeremy anyway. I suppose it would've been different if she'd been younger, but she was already of age."

"How'd she pay for school and things?" Harry asks.

Charlie grins. "She didn't," he says. "Dumbledore made her a scholarship student. She was top of her class - Ravenclaw, you know! - and he said she was too promising a student to drop out."

"I didn't know Hogwarts offered scholarships," I say, surprised.

Charlie's grin broadens. "They don't," he answers. "Dumbledore made one up, just for her. Of course, that didn't exactly endear him to the Gamp family, but I don't expect he cared."

"Sounds like Dumbledore, doesn't it?" Harry says. He's smiling, too.

"So," I say. "Jeremy Gamp walked out of Hogwarts and hasn't been back to England since. Now he's here." I look at both of them. "What does he want?"

**Ron**

The grass in Moldova looks a lot like grass in England, but that's all I get a chance to see because Krum's already waiting for me.

"You are ready?" he asks. Without waiting for an answer, he holds out his arm to me. "Come. I vill take you to Durmstrang."

I hold back. "I know how to Apparate," I protest.

"You vill not be allowed in," Krum tells me. "On your first visit, you must be accompanied by somevun who has already been given permission to enter the castle."

It sounds a bit weird, but Hogwarts has protective charms around it, too. Only I never heard of them trying to keep the _teachers_ out. "Right," I say, looking around for my trunk. It got tipped over when we landed, but luckily it didn't break open.

"I vill help you vith that," Krum offers, flicking his wand at my trunk. It rights itself and drifts obediently over to us. I grab onto it and reach for Krum's arm with my free hand.

For a minute I think he's made a mistake. "Er, Krum?" I say. "We're standing at the edge of a cliff." It's hard to tell, with all the mist swirling around our feet, but I'm willing to bet it's a bloody long way down.

"Vhen the mist clears, you vill see it," Krum says calmly. He looks up. "There is Baranov's eagle. He has been vatching for us."

Baranov's the headmaster, but I don't remember Krum saying anything about an eagle. I look up in time to see a massive bird circle over our heads. It sweeps past us, straight into the mist below.

"Now you vill see," Krum tells me.

I wait, making sure not to move a muscle in case I accidentally step off the side of the cliff. Suddenly the mist clears away all at once, and I can see it. Durmstrang Institute looks like it's carved into the side of a mountain. It's nowhere near the size of Hogwarts, but for all that, it's still pretty damned imposing. It's built of dark grey stone, with moss growing up the sides. And somehow - in spite of the dark red flags fluttering from the towers - it doesn't exactly look friendly.

"Very impressive, is it not?" Krum says proudly.

"It's - er - " I say helplessly.

Luckily, Krum doesn't seem to notice. "Come," he says. "The headmaster is expecting us."

"How do we get down there?" I ask, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel. I wish I'd thought to bring a broom.

"There are steps," Krum says. "Or I can Summon the bridge, if you prefer."

I look dubiously at my trunk and nod. I wouldn't mind chancing the steps if I was in my normal body, but I don't really think old Harris is up to it.

Krum flicks his wand in the direction of the castle and mutters something. At once, a drawbridge drops with a loud creaking noise that echoes throughout the valley. As I watch, it rapidly extends itself till it's directly under our feet.

"Come," Krum says again, and starts forward.

I follow, trying not to look down. As we get closer, I notice that what I thought was moss is actually some sort of carving on the stone walls. I slow down to get a better look; then immediately wish I hadn't. The nearest one shows a terrified-looking witch trying to fight off a werewolf. The expression on her face is a bit too lifelike for my taste. I look hastily past it, but the others are even worse.

"I also was surprised vhen I first saw the carvings," Krum says sympathetically. "The purpose of them is to frighten the enemies of Durmstrang, do you see?"

_Surprised_ isn't exactly the word for what I'm feeling, but I let it pass. "Bit scary for the first-years, isn't it?" I say lightly.

Krum shrugs. "The vorld can be a scary place," he says. "It is vell for them to become accustomed at an early age."

_Poor little gits,_ I think, following him up a short flight of stone steps to the massive front door. The door's made of some sort of wood that's so dark it's almost black, and it's also got carving on it. I'm relieved to see that it just looks like Runes or something this time. Lucky I don't know how to read them, because I'm sure it says something horrible like "death to all who enter."

Krum points his wand at the door and mutters something that doesn't sound anything like _Alohomora_. Bloody hell - I hope the doors speak English or I'm going to be in trouble. The door swings open slowly.

"After you," Krum says politely, ushering me in.

I step into the dark entryway and take my first look around at the interior of Durmstrang Institute. The inside isn't much more cheerful than the outside, to be honest. The walls are made of the same dark grey stone, and the narrow window slits don't let in much light. Torches burning along the walls at intervals make it feel like the middle of the night when I know it can't even be lunchtime yet.

I'm not normally what you'd call sensitive (just ask my wife), but I can't help an involuntary shiver. This place is creepy as hell.

"Ah," Krum says happily. "You vill think me sentimental, Mr. Harris, but I feel I haf come home."

I stare at him incredulously. He can't possibly be serious.

"I hope you vill alvays think of Durmstrang as your home, Viktor," a voice says from behind us, and I manage not to jump. I hadn't realized anyone was there.

Krum turns, apparently unsurprised. "Headmaster Baranov," he says slowly. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

The man moves forward, stopping just in front of one of the torches. I can see him properly now, and I do my best not to stare. He's a few inches taller than Krum, with a long black beard and inscrutable black eyes that remind me uncomfortably of Snape's. So this is Sergei Baranov. We don't know yet if he's involved or not, but Krum said not to trust him…

"I haf also the pleasure of introducing to you Mr. Harris," Krum continues, and I step forward in turn, holding out my hand.

Baranov looks me over deliberately before finally extending his own hand. "Ah, yes," he says. "Our new Chess Master. Velcome, Mr. Harris. I hope you vill be very comfortable at Durmstrang."

I'm sort of doubting it myself, to be honest, but obviously it wouldn't do to say so. "Thank you," I manage.

"No doubt you vould like to see your rooms," Baranov says, dismissing me. "Viktor vill show you. You vill join us for dinner, Viktor?"

"It is impossible," Krum says regretfully. "But I vill return in time for your first Quidditch match."

Baranov nods, already turning away. I watch him sweep down the long stone corridor, his dark-red robes trailing behind him.

"Where is everybody?" I whisper to Krum. Hogwarts was never quiet like this.

"The other teachers are no doubt in their rooms, and the students haf not yet arrived," Krum says. "You vill meet the others at dinner. Come, I vill show you to your apartments."

I follow him up a flight of stairs; then down a winding hallway. "Here," Krum says, opening a door with a flourish. "This vill be your classroom. Your office and personal rooms are just beyond."

"That's convenient, isn't it?" I say, following him in. I'm not awfully impressed with the classroom - it's freezing cold in here and it's only September - but the rooms beyond are something else entirely.

"Bloody hell," I manage after a stunned minute, and Krum laughs.

"The post of Chess Master is an honored vun," he says. "The rooms - they are the best in the castle, vith the exception of Baranov's own quarters."

They're a hell of a lot nicer than any rooms I've ever lived in. You could fit our whole flat in a corner of the bedroom. "I reckon I can manage all right," I say, running a hand over the back of a velvet-covered armchair and grinning at Krum.

"And now I must take my leave of you," Krum says.

I never thought I'd be begging Viktor Krum to stay with me, but I feel like I'm losing my last friend. "You can't possibly change your mind and stay for dinner?" I ask, trying not to sound pathetic.

Krum shakes his head. "I vill see you in October," he answers. "Goodbye, Mr. Harris - and good luck." He lowers his voice. "Be very careful - you vill be vatched most closely."

He turns abruptly and leaves without looking back. I make sure he's gone and then lock the door firmly behind him. I take the opportunity to have another quick shot of Polyjuice before turning my attention to the room. _"Specialius revelio,"_ I say softly; and wait to see what reveals itself. 

**Harry**

Ginny's finally got a couple of days off, so to celebrate, we've decided to have dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. It's Friday night, so we run into several people we know. It's a fun evening - marred only by the fact that we run into the Malfoy family on our way out.

Narcissa looks past us, but Lucius seems to almost want a confrontation. He looks us over deliberately, waiting.

I take a leaf from Narcissa's book and ignore him, trying to catch Draco's eye. He looks up finally and nods - very slightly - in my direction. I nod back and slip my hand into Ginny's. "Let's have another drink before we go home," I say in a low voice.

"I don't suppose Lucius is buying?" Ginny says, but she leads the way to the bar. I take a seat where I have a good view of the Malfoy table. Narcissa appears to be trying to make conversation, but neither her husband nor her son are paying any attention to her. Draco's staring so intently at a menu that he'll soon have it memorized, and Lucius is looking boldly about the room. There's a great deal of muttering going on at the nearby tables, but no one seems to want an altercation.

I look around, trying to spot the tail. The Aurors will be in disguise, of course, but we're usually pretty adept at spotting each other. After a minute I think I have it. The wizard in blue robes is definitely Jackson, and the witch with him is almost certainly O'Connor. They've taken a table only two away from the Malfoys, and I deliberately refrain from looking at them so as not to draw any attention to them.

Ginny, resigned, is talking to Hannah. I just catch the end of something she's saying about an interview, just as Hannah's summoned to the far end of the bar by a customer.

"How'd that go, anyway?" I ask. "It was _Witch Weekly_, wasn't it?"

Ginny makes a face. "It was about what you'd expect," she says. "I don't mind doing interviews for Quidditch magazines - at least they ask sensible questions - but this one was just silly. All the reporter wanted to know was what sort of shampoo I use and what it was like being married to 'the famous Harry Potter'."

I grin at her. "And what did you say?"

Ginny grins back. "Delilah's Apricot Essence, of course," she says innocently. "It's right there in the shower, Harry - haven't you ever noticed?"

"I can't read the label without my glasses," I say. "And I hope you told her it was brilliant."

"Of course I did," Ginny concedes. She frowns slightly. "She was an awful gossip, that reporter. She actually asked me if there was any truth to the rumor that my brother and his wife had separated. Honestly! I told her there wasn't - only then I rather spoilt it by asking which brother she was talking about."

Here we go. "Which one was it?" I ask uneasily.

"Ron and Hermione, if you can believe it," Ginny says. "I started to laugh when she told me, and she changed the subject in a hurry. Really, they'll say _anything_, won't they?"

Gawain, as promised, must have dropped a few hints to the press. I'm not sure if I ought to warn Ginny that she might be hearing a bit more about the subject in the next few days, or if I'd be better off pretending to be as shocked as everyone else. I hate lying to her. I wanted to tell her the truth - at least, as much as we told Hermione - but Gawain was adamant.

"I have already endangered the entire mission by allowing Weasley to reassure his wife," he'd snapped. "Under no circumstances can I allow you to do the same with yours!"

"If you had my in-laws, you might be a bit more understanding," I'd said, and he'd given me a grudging smile.

"I understand better than you think," he told me. "But we must be sensible, Harry. Isn't it better for Ginny to be angry with her brother now than to possibly lose him if he is discovered by the Brotherhood of Blood?"

When he'd put it like that, yes. Thinking back on it now helps me make up my mind. "Ginny," I say carefully. "There might be a bit of truth to that rumor."

**Ron**

I feel slightly sick at the prospect of my first day of teaching - a feeling that has nothing to do with the after-effects of the Polyjuice Potion or the truly vile meal I was served at breakfast. Hermione always says my nerves are all in my stomach. I wish she was here to talk me down this morning, but I'm all on my own here. Only what if they don't all speak English? What if they're all better chess players than I am, and they laugh at me for even trying to teach them anything?

Luckily my first class is first-years - they can't possibly be _that_ great at chess, can they? The previous Chess Master left all of his notes when he retired - but since they're in Bulgarian, it wasn't exactly a lot of help. All I have to go on are the class lists, but I don't recognize any of the family names - to be honest, I can't _pronounce_ most of the family names. I'll just have to make my own notes.

The bell rings. It's only a minute before the students start to file in. They're smaller than I remember first-years being - probably don't get enough to eat if all the meals are as bad as the two I've had so far. Meals at Durmstrang are served in a dining hall, just like they are at Hogwarts, but that's where the resemblance ends. The kids are seated by class instead of at house tables - all except for a mixed-looking group that sits off on their own in a corner. (I thought maybe they were all in trouble for something, so I didn't like to ask.) The food - if you want to call it that - is served by a miserable-looking lot of house-elves. Hermione would have a fit if she could see them - I'll have to remember to never mention it to her.

The kids are looking at me expectantly. "Er, good morning," I say, a little hesitantly.

"Good morning, sir," the Durmstrang students chorus obediently. They're not exactly an enthusiastic lot, but at least they're polite.

"I'm Professor Harris," I say, managing not to say "Weasley". "Before we get started on the lessons, I'd like to get an idea of how well all of you play chess. Split up into pairs, and let's get everyone a chessboard."

It's what I'd planned to do in all my classes - it'll give me a chance to learn their names, as well - and I'm surprised when the kids look nervously at each other instead of splitting into pairs at once. "Is something wrong?" I ask. Maybe they didn't understand me.

One of the kids, braver than the others, raises his hand. "Please, sir," he says, when I nod at him. "Ve haf never played chess before."

"What, none of you?" I ask, looking around.

A tiny girl, sitting somewhat apart from the others, raises her hand shyly. "I know how to play," she says when I look at her. "My father taught me."

A girl in the back whispers something to her neighbor and they both smirk. There's something going on here, but I'm not familiar enough with the language to know what it is. "Excellent," I say to the chess-playing girl. "You can be my assistant. Come up here next to me."

There's definitely a lot more whispering now, and some dark looks are being cast in my direction. The chess player hesitates for a moment, then joins me at the front of the room. I notice that she stares past the other students, not making eye contact.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"Anya," she says in a low voice. "Anya Petrov."

"Right, then," I say. "We're going to do something a bit different in this class. Everyone needs to get up, please, and join me at the front of the room."

The kids look surprised - I definitely get the impression that routines aren't altered much at Durmstrang - but they join me without hesitation. I pull out my wand and send the desks and chairs shooting up against the wall. With the kids looking on, I set one of the chessboards in the center of the room. "_Engorgio_," I tell it.

The kids are staring at me, wide-eyed. "You," I say, pointing to a boy at random. "You come and stand here. And you two, come on over and take these spaces."

They follow instructions, but they're looking at me like I might be slightly mad. I grin at them. "Anyone want to take a guess at what we're doing here?" I ask.

"I know!" Anya says. "Ve are going to be the chess pieces, are ve not?"

"Very good, Anya," I tell her. "Just for that, you get to be a queen. On this square, please."

That definitely doesn't go over well with the rest of them. Now the boys are muttering, too. "Her?" a boy says derisively.

I can't think why they've got it in for her. Anya seems normal enough to me. Maybe she's one of those know-it-all kids, like Hermione used to be before Harry and I got her to tone it down a bit. The thought makes me feel sort of protective toward Anya. "Do you have a problem with that?" I ask the boy.

He turns red, but doesn't answer. "What's your name?" I persist.

"I am Boris Androchev," the boy says proudly. He reminds me of Draco Malfoy.

"Good for you," I say. "Boris, you can be a pawn."

Boris retreats sullenly to the spot I point out, but the others are getting interested now. "Sir?" another boy says eagerly. "Vat shall I be?"

I make him a knight; then quickly assign the rest of the class. "Now," I say, stepping back. "This is how we play the game."

**Hermione**

I'd thought I was prepared, but when it happens, it takes me by surprise.

It started out as a normal day - as normal as my days are, with Ron not here. I went to work, getting in early the way I've been doing for the last several days. It's easier to get things done when no one's around - and let's face it, I haven't any reason to want to linger at home. I was in the middle of researching Mermish Rights when I noticed that people seemed to be walking past my desk rather a lot. My cubicle is in a corner, so there's really no reason for anyone to come back here unless they want to talk to me, and apparently no one does. I look down at myself, but my robes are buttoned properly and I'm wearing matching shoes. My hair, maybe? I pull out a pocket mirror and do a quick check, but it doesn't look any worse than usual, and I haven't got any ink on my face or -

Mafalda Hopkirk and Camilla Barlow walk by for the third time, darting what they seem to think are covert looks at me. I've abruptly had enough.

"All right, what?" I demand.

Camilla turns red, but Mafalda looks unflustered. "I don't know what you mean, dear," she says.

"Why does everyone keep walking past and looking at me?" I say impatiently. "Is something wrong?"

Camilla turns even redder. "We just wondered if you were all right," she says.

What? "Of course," I say. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Camilla looks helplessly at Mafalda. "You don't need to pretend with us, dear," Mafalda says gently. "We've all seen the article."

"What article?" I ask, with a sense of foreboding. I hope nothing's gone wrong with the Wolfbane Project again, although surely someone would have owled me by now.

"You haven't seen it?" Camilla gasps.

"Obviously not," I say, trying to control my irritation. "Was there something in the _Prophet_?" I glance sideways at my copy, still in its original folds. I meant to read it at lunch.

Mafalda and Camilla exchange glances again before Mafalda flicks her wand in the direction of her desk, Summoning a magazine that had been lying open on it. I recognize the cover and suppress a groan. Not _Witch Weekly_ again.

"Page fourteen," Mafalda says gently, handing it over.

**Harry**

Gawain looks up as I close his office door behind me. "Ginny talked to a reporter from _Witch Weekly_ yesterday," I say without preamble. "They asked her if it was true that her brother and his wife had split."

Gawain - annoyingly enough - looks pleased. "I thought that one would bear fruit rather quickly," he says. "The new issue came out this morning - have a look." He hands me a magazine.

I scan the article quickly. It's a sort of roundup of gossip items, mostly concerned with who the members of the Weird Sisters are dating lately and which Quidditch players were seen at various parties over the past week. Near the end is a short blind item, so small that I might have missed it if I hadn't been looking for it.

_"Has one of our favorite young couples called it quits after four years of marriage? Friends are wondering why a certain red-haired wizard has abruptly left town - and why his wife hasn't accompanied him. Family members deny there's a problem, but we aren't so sure! Watch this space for more."_

I look up. "It could be about almost anyone," I say.

"Only it isn't," Gawain says. "Your Ginny, no doubt, is the "family member" they're referring to."

I toss the magazine onto his desk. "I need to talk to Hermione," I say brusquely. "I want to make sure she's okay."

Gawain looks thoughtful. "Yes, I believe that would be a good idea. You should appear to react exactly as you would if you assumed the rumors were true," he says. "It might be a good plan for you and Ginny to be seen publicly with Hermione, in order to make it seem as though you're taking her part."

He's so cold-blooded sometimes. "We are taking her part," I say, resisting the urge to add "against you".

"Be very careful," Gawain cautions. "What have you said to Ginny?"

I sigh. "I warned her that the rumors might be true," I say. "I told her that I'd heard in the office that Ron had asked for a reassignment - and that I didn't know where or for how long."

Gawain nods approvingly. "And her reaction?"

"She was a bit upset," I say, toning it down for his benefit. "Upset" isn't exactly the word for it. "I'm supposed to ask you where he's been reassigned to, because Ginny thinks I ought to go to wherever-it-is and talk some sense into him."

"Brazil," Gawain says promptly. "I intend to have someone catch a glimpse of him there sometime next week. Although I hadn't intended for it to be you."

"I told her I thought we ought to stay out of it and let them work it out on their own, but I don't think she's going to let me get by with that for very long," I say. "Good thing it's Quidditch season, because otherwise I wouldn't put it past her to go after Ron herself."

Gawain looks slightly alarmed. "You must not allow that to happen," he says.

"I warned you it was going to be like this," I say. "And just so you know, Molly Weasley subscribes to _Witch Weekly_."

"I've already scheduled a meeting with Arthur for this afternoon," Gawain says. "I rather thought it might be easier to deal with him on his own."

Poor Arthur. What I'm going through with Ginny is going to seem like nothing compared to what's about to hit him when he gets home from work tonight.

"About Hermione," Gawain's saying. "Are you quite sure we can count on her to say nothing to Ginny - or to her mother-in-law?"

"I'm sure," I say. "There's one thing you ought to know about Hermione, Gawain. She always keeps her word."

"I'm sure she does," Gawain says mildly. "I'm quite fond of Hermione, you know. I regret the necessity of putting her through all this. Had there been any other alternative…"

All of a sudden he doesn't seem quite so unfeeling. "There wasn't," I say. "She'll be all right. Ginny and I will look after her - and she's got her work to keep her occupied." That reminds me. "Did Ron ever mention a wizard in green robes at the St. Mungo's board meeting?" I ask abruptly.

Gawain doesn't even blink at the rapid change in subject. "Eldon Nott," he answers at once. "Uncle to your young friend Theodore. Not a Death Eater, but certainly not unsympathetic to their cause - at least, when it benefited him. We've had our eye on him for a while, but he doesn't seem to be guilty of anything except having a rather unpleasant personality and questionable taste in friends."

"Friends like Lucius Malfoy," I say.

"Precisely," Gawain answers. "No doubt the two of them were behind the sabotage at St. Mungo's laboratory, but again, Harry - we can't _prove_ anything."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask a few people at St. Mungo's to keep their eyes open," I suggest, but Gawain's already shaking his head.

"No civilians," he says.

"What about Marvin McGillicuddy?" I persist. "He's married to an Auror; he - "

"He is married to Perdita," Gawain says. "And the fact that I have not taken her into my confidence about young Weasley's affair should tell you something, Harry."

I stare at him. "You don't suspect her, do you?" I ask. Perdita's been with the Department for years.

"No," Gawain says. "I am, however, rather concerned about Jeremy Gamp's sudden decision to return to England. I don't know how much you know about his relationship with his sister, Harry, but - "

"I know the whole story," I say. "Charlie Weasley told me."

"Then you can understand my concern," Gawain says. "I trust Perdita, naturally, but I fear for her safety just now. Under the circumstances, I don't think it's wise to burden her with any confidential information."

I have no trouble reading between the lines on this one - he's afraid Jeremy's going to get to Perdita somehow and force her to talk. "Are we watching him?" I ask. "Gamp, I mean."

"Of course," Gawain says. "However, it's just as well to be careful. And in any case, it hasn't escaped my notice that Perdita has not been herself lately. I've considered asking if she wants to take a leave of absence, but it's easier to look after her if she's here in the Department."

He pushes back his chair and stands up. "I'm late for a meeting," he remarks, looking at his watch. "If you'll excuse me, Harry?"

I start to follow him from the office. "By the way," Gawain says over his shoulder. "I understand that the Malfoys are invited to dine with the Greengrass family tonight. Do you suppose you might tag along as an uninvited guest?"

"I've always wanted to see where the Greengrasses live," I say, grinning at him. But my smile fades as Gawain strides away. First I've got to go and find Hermione before someone shows her that damned article.

**Ron**

By the end of my first day at Durmstrang, I've reached a whole new level of respect for the teachers at Hogwarts. I'm bloody exhausted and all I mostly did was watch the kids play chess. I can't even imagine what it'd be like to have to teach Transfiguration or something. (Not that I could, because I wasn't exactly a star in that class, was I?) I'm tempted to have a quick lie-down before dinner, but I really ought to be trying to figure out who's in the Brotherhood of Blood. The only problem is, I haven't the slightest idea of where to begin. I haven't had much chance to get to know my fellow teachers. We sit together at the staff table for meals, but they're not exactly a chatty bunch. Baranov introduced me last night, but most of them just nodded and then returned to their meals - all except for the Potions teacher, Dorika Balog. She at least gave me a smile. I took special notice of the Dark Arts teacher, Fyodor Kirilov. He looks ordinary enough, but we'll see.

I'd thought I might be able to pick up more from watching the kids, but it's a bit hard when you don't know any of the languages they speak. They all seem to be fluent in several - including English, luckily. I did notice one odd thing. There seemed to be one or two in every class today that are sort of outsiders, like little Anya.

_Maybe they're the ones being recruited,_ I think suddenly. The thought makes me sit up straight. Imagine someone trying to force a tiny little thing like Anya into the Brotherhood of Blood. I pull out my map of Durmstrang and study it thoughtfully. The kids don't seem to have common rooms, so I'm not sure where they all go when they're not in class or asleep, but there's a large space on the second floor marked "Staff Room". I take an extra-strong dose of Polyjuice and make my way there.

The Staff Room, unfortunately, seems to be deserted. "Vere you looking for somvun?" a voice says from behind me. I turn quickly, but to my relief it's Dorika Balog. Krum said he didn't think she was part of the Brotherhood - and anyway, she looks like someone's nice old grandmother. She's only abut five feet tall, and she's got snow-white hair and dimples when she smiles. She shows them now, beaming at me.

"Hello, Professor," I say. "I wasn't looking for anyone in particular - just a bit of company. Doesn't anyone ever sit in the Staff Room and have a cup of tea or anything?"

"Ve do not use it much, unless ve haf a meeting," Dorika explains. "It is not very comfortable, do you see?"

I turn back and peer through the doorway. Dorika's got a good point there. The chairs are all straight-backed wooden ones, and I don't see a fireplace.

"You English and your tea," Dorika says good-naturedly. "Come - I gif you something better to drink."

_It better not be more borchst,_ I think, following her down the stairs. Borchst is the most foul thing I've ever come across in my life. Why anyone would think to make soup out of beets - and cold soup at that - is beyond me, but the Durmstrang lot can't seem to get enough of it. So far they've served it at every meal, even breakfast.

Dorika leads the way down yet another flight of stairs. Why is Potions always in the dungeons? But her office couldn't be more different from Snape's. She points me to a cozy flowered armchair while she rummages in a cupboard for glasses.

"Ven it gets colder, I vill haf a fire in here," she says, pullimg a green bottle out of a trunk. "Now it is too varm."

Maybe by their standards it is. Personally I'm having a hard time believing it's September. "What is this?" I ask uneasily as she hands me a glass.

Dorika's huge smile breaks out. "Don't vorry, Professor Harris, I gif you my vord it is not borscht!" she says merrily.

I blush and then grin back. Dorika raises her glass in my direction and then downs the whole thing in one. I follow suit and just barely keep from choking to death.

"Bloody hell," I manage at last. My eyes are streaming.

Dorika chuckles. "You haf not tasted schnapps before? It varms you up, does it not?"

"Yeah," I say, setting the glass down carefully. I'd like to get her talking about the other teachers, but I'm not sure how to get started. While I'm thinking, Dorika gives me an opening.

"I had the first-years right after you did this morning," she says. "I must tell you, Professor, they could not stop talking about your class. It seems you haf made a good impression, yes?"

"Did I?" I say gratefully. "I wasn't sure it was going to go over at first. There's one girl they didn't seem to like much."

"Anya Petrov," Dorika says at once, nodding. Her smile for once is absent. "It vas only to be expected. I found it to be the same vith all of my classes."

"You found what to be the same?" I ask, frowning. "Why are there certain kids that no one likes? Have they done something wrong?"

"Of course not," Dorika says. "Myself, I think it is not their fault. But others - vell, you see how it is, Professor!"

"What's not their fault?" I ask, frustrated.

"You do not know?" Dorika asks, looking surprised. "They are the half-bloods."

I stare at her. "Half-bloods? But I thought - "

"Vith enrollment down, Sergei has had no choice but to accept a number of half-blood students," Dorika explains. "Durmstrang has alvays been a pureblood school, and this change - vell, there are those who believe it is a bad thing."

"Are you one of them?" I ask directly. Might as well find out right now…

"I believe they are capable of learning as much as a pureblood child," Dorika answers slowly. "But here - perhaps it is not the best place for them to be. Not because of the lessons, you understand, but because they are perhaps not treated vell by the other children - or by some of the teachers."

She lowers her voice to a whisper on the last words. "Like who?" I ask at once, but she merely presses her lips together tightly and shakes her head.

"Now, Professor, perhaps you haf some other questions about Durmstrang?" she asks brightly.

"Okay," I say, giving up for now. "Tell me what happens on the weekends. Is there anything to do for fun around here?"

Dorika's in the middle of telling me about the school Quidditch teams when there's a soft rap on the door and Baranov sticks his head in.

"Ah, Professor Harris," he says smoothly. "I vas told you vere here. Dorika, my dear, if you don't mind, I must haf a vord vith the professor."

Dorika shoots me an anxious look, but I've only been here a day - I can't be in trouble yet.

"No problem," I answer, getting to my feet. "Thanks for the hospitality, Dorika."

Her worried eyes follow me to the door.

**Hermione**

I spend several minutes trying in vain to convince Camilla and Mafalda that the article in _Witch Weekly_ isn't about me and Ron. (Only it _is_ - I know it is. This is what he tried to warn me about.) Finally I've had enough.

"Going home, dear?" Mafalda asks sympathetically, watching me gather my things. "I don't blame you a bit. You go have a good cry and a nice cup of tea - it'll make you feel better."

"I'm going to lunch," I say, even though it's barely half-past eleven. I sweep past both of them without another word, not making eye contact with anyone. I'll be all right - I just need to get out of here. I hurry through the Atrium, feeling as though everyone's eyes are on me.

I take a deep breath when I reach the street. I can't think where to go - I haven't any appetite, but I couldn't stay in the Ministry any longer. Maybe I will go home, just for an hour…

_No,_ I tell myself firmly. _You've got to face this. Go have lunch - you'll feel better._ Not at the Cauldron, though - Hannah always reads _Witch Weekly_. Maybe that French place - they won't have read it; they don't even speak English. Mind made up, I walk quickly around the corner.

Lunch - and the complete lack of English conversation - does make me feel a bit better. It's so early that the restaurant's barely open, and I'm one of the only patrons. I've just paid the check and started (rather reluctantly) for the door when I spot the last person I want to see right now. I mutter one of Ron's favorite words under my breath (the waiter looks startled - evidently he understands _some_ English) and duck quickly into the Ladies' Room.

Maybe she didn't see me, I think, locking myself into a stall. And surely even Rita Skeeter wouldn't follow me in here.

"Hermione?" a sharp voice says. "Don't bother hiding - I saw you come in here." The door handle rattles.

Honestly. Of all the bloody cheek. "What do you want, Rita?" I ask wearily.

"I want to talk to you," Rita answers matter-of-factly. "And it's no good trying to Disapparate - all restaurants have Anti-Apparition charms to keep people from leaving without paying their bills."

Damn. I tuck my wand back into my pocket. "Fine," I snap, throwing the door open. "What do you want to talk about? The Wolfsbane Project? Or perhaps I could interest you in Merpeople - I've been looking up the history, and it's quite unfair, what's been done to them by wizards - "

"I don't give a damn about Merpeople," Rita says. "I want to know where your husband is."

"None of your business," I say coldly, starting past her.

Rita grabs my arm. "You'd do better to just tell me everything," she says. "The press isn't going to leave you alone, but if you give me the exclusive, there's nothing left for them to bother you about." Her voice softens. "I'll keep the whole tone sympathetic toward you, of course, Hermione. You might not realize it, but if someone with as much influence as _I_ have backs you up, the whole wizarding world will be on your side. Now, what went wrong? Did he cheat on you, is that it?"

"Leave me alone, Rita!" I say wildly. I yank my arm out of her grasp and push past her. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Ron**

"This vay, please," Baranov murmurs. He doesn't give the impression of moving fast, but somehow he's already several feet ahead of me. I hurry to catch up, following him up another flight of stairs - bloody Harris is in really bad shape; I'm already panting - and then down a corridor I haven't seen yet.

The sight of the Deathly Hallows symbol brings me to a dead stop. I knew it was here, but somehow I'd forgotten. I run a hand over the carving on the wall.

"Grindelwald did that," Baranov says from my other side, making me jump a little. "It vas his symbol. Ve haf tried to remove it many times over the years, but most regrettably it appears to be permanent."

It's permanent all right. I used the same charm on the wall under the main staircase at Hogwarts. I carved my initials and Hermione's on there, back when we were repairing the school after the Battle. Hermione was worried at first because I was defacing school property, but then luckily she decided it was romantic. And she was the one who told me how to cast the charm to make it permanent - I'd never have known how. I always thought it'd be fun to tell our kids to look for it when they get to Hogwarts. (When we have kids, obviously. Which I reckon we will, one of these days…)

This isn't a story I'm planning to share with anyone at Durmstrang, though. "I suppose you could hang a tapestry or something over it," I say instead.

Baranov shakes his head. "It vill serve as a varning," he says, a little obscurely.

A warning about what, I wonder? But Baranov's already started off again, and I have to follow. Bloody hell, more stairs. I'm going to have to start Harris on some exercises or something. I remember the map showing the headmaster's office as being at the top of one of the towers - that must be where we're going.

"My office," Baranov says, opening an ornate wooden door and ushering me into a room that makes mine look like the Shrieking Shack. The walls are hung with silk, and a thick Persian rug carpets the marble floor. A row of gold ornaments set with jewels stretches out across the mantel piece over a huge fireplace.

"Sit," Baranov invites me, and I sink obediently into a deep leather armchair across from the biggest desk I've ever seen. "Something to drink? Some schnapps, perhaps?"

"No, thanks," I say quickly. Once was bloody enough with that stuff.

Baranov pours himself a glass and sits down at the desk. "You are vondering, perhaps, vhy I haf asked you here?"

This isn't just a "how was your first day" sort of friendly chat, then. "A bit," I say guardedly.

"Professor Harris, you are of course a graduate of Hogwarts School, are you not?" Baranov starts.

I nod, waiting.

Baranov sighs. "Their vays are not ours," he says. "An admirable vizard, Albus Dumbledore, but perhaps he had his blind spots, do you see?"

Not really. I look at him inquiringly.

"You are yourself of pureblood origin," Baranov says.

I nod. Well, _I_ am, and I guess Harris must be or Durmstrang never would've hired him.

"As am I," Baranov says. "As is my staff - and until recently, all of my students. Most unfortunately, ve find ourselves somevhat lacking in gold these past few years. The students - there are not so many of them as there vunce vere. Vhy, I cannot say. Perhaps they go to other schools - perhaps the parents haf not so many children - it matters not. So vat do ve do, Sergei, I ask myself. Do ve perhaps haf not so many teachers? Do ve not serve so much good food?" He pauses here, as if waiting for me to comment.

"I don't see how you could cut back on teachers, unless you decided not to teach all of the subjects," I say, managing not to say that the food couldn't possibly get any worse than it already is.

"Precisely," Baranov says. "So I ask myself, and I find there is only vun answer. If ve do not haf enough students, ve must find more from somevhere. And so I make the most difficult decision to accept a few of those who vere vunce deemed unvorthy of attending this so great school." He holds up his glass, admiring the cut crystal.

"The half-bloods," I say. What a prat. I don't suppose it ever occurred to him that he could sell a couple of those gold things on the mantel and make enough to keep the place going for years.

"Yes," Baranov says heavily. "The half-bloods. It vas a decision I reached vith the greatest regret, and I haf taken much criticism for it. But I tell you - as I haf told my detractors - I vill never stoop to accepting the Muggle-borns. The half-bloods - vell, it is the fault of their parents that they exist at all, and ve must not blame the innocent children for that."

"Very progressive of you," I say dryly.

Baranov nods eagerly, missing the sarcasm. "Yes, I thought you vould understand," he says. "However, Professor, just because ve haf most reluctantly agreed to teach these children the little they are capable of learning, it does not mean that they should be treated as ve vould treat those who are of pure blood. They must be kept in their place, do you see? Allowing them to think they are equals of the rest of us is only an unkindness vhich vill prove to be a handicap to them in later life."

I stare at him, not sure what to say. I've come across plenty of prejudiced wizards, of course, but I've never met one before who assumed I _agreed_ with him.

Baranov gives me a pleased nod, evidently misinterpreting my silence. "I understand that you gave your first-year students an unusual lesson today," he says, abruptly changing the subject.

"I hope that isn't a problem," I say guardedly.

"Not at all," Baranov says smoothly. "It vas most original… although perhaps not vise, do you think, to haf singled out a half-blood student in a so obvious vay."

Now I get it. "Anya Petrov," I say, and Baranov nods again.

"Just so," he says. "Of course, you vere not then avare of her… _status_, so the mistake, it is completely understandable. I am sure it vill not again occur." He smiles at me, but the smile doesn't quite make it to his eyes.

"I understand," I say, not committing myself one way or the other. I'd like to defend Anya and the others but it would only make Baranov suspicious - and it might make things worse for the kids.

"Excellent," Baranov says. "Vell, Professor Harris, no doubt you haf lessons to prepare."

I guess I'm being dismissed. I get to my feet. I look uncertainly at Baranov, but he's already pouring himself another drink. "I vill see you at dinner, no doubt," he says over his shoulder.

Yeah, dinner. Let me guess - we're having borscht. "Yes," I say, and leave.

**Harry**

"I still think we ought to do something," Ginny says mutinously. "One of us ought to go to South America and talk some sense into my thick-headed brother."

"We can't interfere in someone else's marriage," I say weakly. "Give them a chance to work it out on their own. You know how Ron and Hermione are - they argue all the time. This'll probably blow over."

"You sound like Bill," Ginny says crossly. "And Dad. Mum agrees with me."

Somehow that doesn't surprise me. "What does George think?" I ask, just to buy myself some time.

Ginny frowns. "I don't know. He didn't really say anything much." Her face brightens. "What about Perdita? She's Ron's partner - she ought to be able to do something."

"Perdita's got some other things on her mind right now," I say. I hesitate, but there's no reason not to tell Ginny the story - and it ought to serve as a distraction. I take a deep breath and then launch into it.

Ginny listens intently. "He's after something," she says when I've finished.

I glance at the wall behind her at the portrait of my parents and their two best friends. Mum and Dad and Remus are all asleep, but Sirius is listening intently. Perdita's story must hit pretty close to home for him.

"We think so, too," I say. "We're keeping a pretty close eye on him - and Gawain's being very careful of Perdita."

"Good," Ginny says. "Now, about Ron - "

"I've got to go," I interrupt. "The Malfoys are invited to dinner with the Greengrass family, and Gawain thought I might tag along."

"Good thing you've already eaten," Ginny says, grinning at me. "I don't suppose they've bothered to set a place for you."

I lean over her chair and kiss her. "I might be late," I say. "Ginny, whatever you're thinking about Ron and Hermione, just - don't, okay? I really think they'd prefer to work it out without any interference."

Ginny looks put out, but she promises. "Only I do feel badly for Hermione, having to deal with all these rumors," she says. "I don't think there'd be any harm in just owling her and seeing if she needs anything. That's not interfering - it's just being a good friend."

"You're right," I say. "I looked for her at the Ministry today, but she wasn't around. Go ahead and owl her. See if she wants to come to dinner tomorrow."

"Mum's already going to ask her to the Burrow," Ginny admits.

I catch Sirius's eye and shrug.

Ten minutes later, I'm outside Malfoy Manor. "Sorry I'm late," I whisper to Jackson, sticking my head out of the Invisibility Cloak so he can see me. "Have they left yet?"

He shakes his head, just as the front door opens. "They're all yours," Jackson says in a low voice. "O'Connor's already in place outside the Greengrass home."

The Malfoys are starting down the walk. I can hear Narcissa complaining about something. Draco trails his parents, looking uncomfortable.

"Good luck," Jackson whispers, and Disapparates.

I wait for the three Malfoys to disappear; then turn on the spot and follow them.

The Greengrasses have given their home the rather unoriginal name of Green Trees. In keeping with the name, it's closely surrounded by not only trees, but also shrubbery that's been trimmed into fancy shapes. It's quite large, but nothing on the scale of Malfoy Manor. A branch waves at me as I pass a fir tree near the front steps. O'Connor's signal. She'll keep watch outside, while I go in. A house-elf, bowing low, holds the door open as we approach.

"I see they still have _their_ elf," Narcissa whispers, sounding put out. But her expression changes quickly as Horatio Greengrass and his wife appear in the doorway. "Good evening, Horatio! And what lovely robes, Ardith! _So_ kind of you to invite us to dinner!"

I follow closely on Draco's heels as the Malfoys are ushered into the house. He half-glances over his shoulder and I fall back a bit. I don't think he felt me, but I'd better be careful.

"Drinks," Ardith Greengrass says sharply to the house-elf. She turns to the Malfoys. "Do come and sit down. The girls will be down in just a moment - or Astoria will, at least. I'm afraid Daphne had a previous engagement."

Draco looks rather pleased to hear this. "I suppose she's out with her fiancé," Narcissa purrs. "You _must_ be pleased, Ardith - one of our best families."

Ardith immediately launches into a long story about the wedding plans. "All I've heard for weeks now," Horatio confides to Lucius in a low voice. "Bloody wedding. You'd think no one had ever gotten married before, the way Daphne carries on." He glances sideways at his wife. "Care to come into my study for pre-dinner drinks? The girls won't miss us."

"Where are you going, Horatio?" Ardith asks shrilly, as the two men start to leave the room. "Dinner's being served in twenty minutes."

"Just a bit of business talk," Horatio says hastily. "Come along, Lucius."

Draco looks up hopefully, but they haven't thought to ask him to come along. He slumps down on a sofa and stares glumly at the glass the house-elf's just presented him with.

I hesitate. Draco Malfoy is supposed to be my quarry, but as far as I can tell he's not going to do anything but sulk. Lucius and Horatio are going to be far more interesting. Abandoning Draco to his fate, I follow the two men into Horatio's study.

Lucius closes the door behind him, nearly catching the edge of the Cloak. I sidestep just in time, but his attention's focused on Greengrass. "I had hoped to have the pleasure of meeting Daphne's fiancé tonight," he says.

"Daphne thought they might join us for coffee after dinner," Horatio says. "Yes, he's an interesting young man."

"Interesting - and rather enterprising," Lucius suggests. "Or so I've heard."

Their eyes meet for a moment. "Oh, I don't know," Horatio says uncomfortably.

"My dear Horatio," Lucius says softly. "I think you know exactly what I mean."

Horatio looks away. "Now, see here, Lucius," he says. "You don't want to go starting all that up again, do you? Things have just settled down - for all of us."

Lucius raises an eyebrow. "Settled down, have they?" he asks. "So you've sold out, Horatio. I must confess, I find myself rather disappointed in you. Do you mean to tell me that you're content with the way things are run nowadays? Mudbloods controlling policy at the Ministry… werewolves treated like respectable citizens… why, at this rate, I wouldn't be surprised to see them nominate Harry Potter for Minister of Magic."

_I would,_ I say silently. _And I can tell you he definitely wouldn't be interested in the position._

"Come now," Horatio mumbles, looking even more uncomfortable. "Things haven't gotten as bad as all that."

_Thanks a lot, Horatio. I don't think I'd be any worse at it than Fudge was._

"Haven't they?" Lucius remarks. "I'm afraid I stayed away for far too long."

There's a tap on the door. "Dinner is served, Master!" the house-elf's voice squeaks.

Horatio looks immeasurably relieved. "Can't keep the ladies waiting," he says, almost scurrying to the door in his haste to open it. "Now then, Lucius - after you!"

Horatio talks determinedly to Narcissa throughout dinner, ignoring Lucius's attempts to catch his eye. Draco - looking considerably more cheerful - is deep in conversation with Astoria. Lucius is left to devote himself to Ardith, which he does with his usual cold charm.

Dinner seems to last for hours. I'm tempted to leave and have a look round the house, but I don't want to miss Jeremy. He and Daphne finally show up once we've adjourned to the drawing room for coffee.

"Oh, not more business," Ardith complains as the men get up to leave the room. "I thought you'd settled all that before dinner!"

"I'm very interested in Horatio's collection of rare coins," Lucius says smoothly. "And I know you lovely ladies must be longing to talk about wedding details." He bows slightly in Daphne's direction and she flushes, looking pleased.

Draco whispers something to Astoria and they disappear through the French windows. No one else seems to notice them leaving. I don't hesitate at all this time. O'Connor's outside - she can cover them. I'm suddenly discovering that I, too, have developed a sudden interest in Horatio's coin collection.

"I knew your father at school," Lucius says to Jeremy, sinking into an armchair. "He was a few years ahead of me, but I believe we shared - er, similar views on a number of subjects."

"I believe you and I are of the same mind on this one," Jeremy says, cutting to the chase at once.

Lucius looks briefly startled, but covers neatly. "I was saying to Horatio earlier that I feared I may have stayed away from home for too long," he remarks. "The situation in England has deteriorated beyond my worst imaginings."

"Nothing of the sort," Horatio protests uneasily, but the other two pay him no attention.

"The question, Mr. Malfoy, is whether or not you're prepared to do something about it," Jeremy says.

Lucius waits, silent and attentive. "And if I am?" he says at last. His voice is so soft I can barely hear him.

Jeremy smiles - a smile that chills my blood. "There are a number of wizards who feel the same as we do," he says. "You spoke of staying away from home too long, Mr. Malfoy. On the contrary - we must look to other parts of the world now to aid us in returning to a more desirable form of leadership in this country."

Malfoy smiles back. "Call me Lucius," he says.

**Hermione**

I set the _Daily Prophet_ aside, annoyed to see that my hands are shaking. I hate Rita Skeeter! I'm half-tempted to call her bluff and report her for being an unregistered Animagus - but she hasn't written anything that's not the truth. At least, the truth as the rest of the world sees it.

Crookshanks brushes against my ankles and I scoop him up. "How can I possibly go to work, Crookshanks?" I whisper into his fur. "They'll all be talking about me."

Crookshanks purrs reassuringly, but he's clearly more interested in the milk left in the jug on the table than he is in my problems. I set him down on the floor with a sigh. I can't just hide out in the flat until Ron comes home - it could be months, for all I know. And the longer I put it off, the worse it'll be. Best to just get it over with.

Something silver flashes in front of my eyes and I catch my breath. Ron?

It's not, though. After a moment I recognize the silver hare as Luna's Patronus. The hare - looking ridiculously like Luna - stares rather vaguely about the flat for a moment before speaking.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," it says in Luna's voice. "It's me, Luna. I've got an advance issue of the _Quibbler_ for you. Can you meet me for lunch or drinks or something? I think you'll be really pleased with Daddy's article on the Wolfsbane Project."

I'm not looking to be pleased, exactly - I'll be content if Xenophilus hasn't turned the whole project into something completely unrecognizable - but I find myself looking forward to seeing Luna. Even though she's a bit - well, unusual ("try _mental_" Ron's voice says in my head), it's sometimes rather restful to be around her.

I pull out my wand and send a Patronus back, asking her to come to the flat at noon. I don't want to go to a restaurant today - I wouldn't put it past Rita to track me down again - but I can get takeaway from the Ministry Café and bring it back here at lunch time. Ron and I often do that - or we used to.

My eyes fill with tears and I brush them away impatiently. I will _not_ go into the office with red, swollen eyes - not when they'll all be looking. I fasten a bright, determined smile on my face and smooth my hair back. Time to face the public.

**Harry**

"And then what?" Gawain demands.

"And then Horatio got all flustered and said really, they ought to go back and join the ladies," I say. "Malfoy and Gamp couldn't insist without making a scene - but they've made plans to meet up tonight. I'll be there, of course."

"I believe I'll join you," Gawain says unexpectedly. "Your Cloak will cover both of us, won't it?"

"It's covered three before now," I say, exchanging a surprised look with O'Connor. Gawain never goes out on surveillance missions - probably because it's usually deadly boring.

Gawain turns to O'Connor. "Did you observe anything of interest outside, Dara?" he asks.

"Not unless you care about Astoria Greengrass being totally gone on Draco Malfoy," O'Connor says with a shrug. "Mind, our boy's not completely unaffected. He paid her a few rather insipid compliments, and I think he was toying with the idea of asking her out when her mother came to the door and called her in."

"If he starts dating Astoria, it could lead to him spending more time around Jeremy Gamp," Gawain says thoughtfully. "That would be rather convenient for us - we could consolidate our resources."

"Romantic, aren't you?" I say, exchanging a grin with O'Connor. "I don't think there's much point in watching Draco anymore unless he does take up with Jeremy. He's evidently not in his father's confidence."

"Nevertheless, I'd just as soon have you continue the surveillance," Gawain says. "Dara, I believe you're watching Narcissa this afternoon, are you not?"

O'Connor gets rather reluctantly to her feet. "We've an appointment for a fitting at Gladrags this afternoon," she says. "Then we're getting our nails done. She leads a productive life, our Narcissa!" She gives me a wave and leaves.

Gawain waits till he's sure she's gone before speaking again. "Seen this morning's _Prophet_?" he asks.

"Ginny and I both overslept," I admit. "I didn't do more than glance at the front page. Why?"

Gawain hands it to me silently. I spot Rita Skeeter's byline and groan.

"I think I'd better go and find Hermione," I say, once I've finished the article.

"Yes," Gawain says. "I think you had."

**Hermione**

There's a lot of whispering, but no one has the nerve to say anything to my face. I spend the morning determinedly concentrating on research. I've rather decided against merpeople as my next project. They may not be exactly treated as equals by wizards, but no one's actually hurting them, either. Giants, now….

"What are you reading?" Basil's voice says from behind me. "Oh, _that_ old treaty. Going to take on the giants next, are you?"

"Maybe," I say, relieved that he doesn't seem to want to ask about my personal life. "Why not?"

"It won't be very popular," Basil warns. "People are afraid of giants - and frankly, they're not very bright."

"I don't care if it's popular or not," I say, but Basil sort of has a point. Grawp, for instance…

"You should," Basil says. "If you want to be in the Wizengamut one day, you'd do well to choose your causes carefully. Once you've made it there, you can do as you like."

"Werewolves weren't popular," I argue.

"Oh, but they are!" Basil says. "At least, they are now. It _was_ clever of you, getting Andromeda Tonks to back you like that. Quite a sad story there - the press was all over it."

I can't help feeling a bit annoyed. I didn't ask Andromeda to help with the project with any idea of creating media interest. I just thought she'd like to do something in Remus's memory for Teddy's sake. "What do you want, anyway?" I ask.

"I want to talk to you about something," Basil says. He looks over at Mafalda, busily pretending she's dropped an earring on the floor near us, and lowers his voice. "Have lunch with me."

"I can't," I say, glad of the excuse. "I'm meeting a friend. I ought to be leaving now, actually."

"When you get back, then," Basil says, unruffled. "I'll be waiting."

I nearly run into Harry on my rush to leave the Ministry. "I was just coming to look for you," he says, grabbing my arm.

I can't talk about it - even to Harry. "I've got to go," I answer, heading determinedly for the Cafe. "I'm having Luna over to lunch and I need to pick up something for us to eat."

"I'll just walk along with you, then," Harry says stubbornly. I see him move his wand in a silent _Muffliato_ Charm.

"If it's about that article in the _Prophet_," I start.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Harry interrupts.

"I knew it was coming," I said. "I'll be all right, Harry. It's just a bit rough, that's all."

"Why don't you come and stay with me and Ginny?" Harry asks, but I shake my head.

"I'm better off on my own," I answer. "Thanks, though." I force myself to smile at him. "Did you read it? It was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

"'_I just can't bear to talk about it, Rita, even to a really close friend like you,' Hermione Weasley said when I asked her about the rumors,'"_ Harry quotes, rolling his eyes. He grins at me. "Just what did you say to her, anyway?"

"Nothing they could have printed," I say grimly and he laughs.

"She's gotten me a few times with that Quick Quotes Quill," he reminds me. "It'll blow over, Hermione - it always does."

"It'll blow over as soon as Ron comes home," I say, and he pats my arm.

"You just keep thinking that," he says, sounding relieved. "Look, Hermione, I'm afraid Molly and Ginny have put their heads together on this one and they're determined to get you two back together. I thought I'd better warn you."

I stop with my hand on the door to the Café and give him a horrified look. "Now what am I supposed to do?" I demand.

"I dunno," Harry says blankly. "Maybe you ought to go visit your parents for the weekend or something."

Like that's going to help. Honestly. "I'll have to tell both of them - kindly but firmly - to stay out of it," I say reluctantly. I glare at Harry. "None of you are making this any easier on me," I tell him.

"Sorry," Harry says. "I've already told Ginny we ought to let the two of you work it out on your own, but you know as well as I do that Molly's not going to listen to me."

"Well, think of something to distract her," I say desperately. "Can't you convince Percy to move his wedding date up or something? Or maybe you and Ginny could have a baby."

"You sound like Kreacher," Harry says, grinning at me. "I'll see if I can come up with something to head her off. In the meantime, have you seen Perdita at all?"

"Oh dear," I say guiltily. "I know I promised Marvin I'd talk to her, but with all this going on…"

"I meant to talk to her myself, but she wasn't exactly friendly the last time I stopped by her desk," Harry admits. "I thought if maybe someone outside the Aurors tried - "

"I will," I say. "I promise." I glance down at my watch. "I've really got to go, Harry - Luna's expecting me."

Harry nods and starts off in the opposite direction. "Tell Luna I said hello," he calls over his shoulder.

I can't help wondering if Luna's heard anything about my supposed separation from Ron, but if she has, she doesn't mention it. "I hope you checked these for curses," she says, lifting the top slice of bread off her sandwich and peering at it suspiciously. "Everyone knows the Ministry Café workers put Transfiguration spells on random food items every morning. There's no telling what we might turn into if we aren't careful!"

Honestly. I suppose it's nice to see that Luna hasn't changed any. "Why would the Café workers do that?" I ask, managing not to roll my eyes.

"They're in league with the pixies," Luna explains. "You know that their head cashier is half Cornish pixie, don't you?"

The head cashier is at least six inches taller than I am and outweighs me by a good fifty pounds. If she's got any pixie blood, she's hiding it very well. But I've known Luna for too long to bother arguing. _"Specialus revelio,"_ I say, because I've only got an hour for lunch. "There, see? They're fine."

"We were lucky," Luna says, finally biting into her sandwich. "I wonder who ended up getting jinxed today!"

"Did you bring the article?" I ask, firmly changing the subject.

Luna reaches into her pocket and pulls out a rolled-up magazine. "Daddy gave you the front cover," she says happily.

He certainly did. A ferocious-looking werewolf glares back at me when I unroll the magazine. _"Vicious and uncontrolled - OR IS HE?"_ the headline asks. _"See page twelve."_

I accordingly turn to page twelve, not without some trepidation. But the article - although dramatic - is factual, and Xenophilus ends by urging all werewolves to get treated.

"This is really good," I say, hoping I don't sound as surprised as I feel. "Thanks for bringing it, Luna."

"I knew you'd be pleased," Luna says, beaming at me. "Did you happen to notice the article that follows it?"

I turn the page. _"'Famous naturalist to lead expedition to Tibet?'"_ I ask, looking up at her inquiringly.

"I'm going with him," Luna says. "We're going to hunt down a Crumple-Horned Snorkack - they've been spotted in the Tibetan mountains, you know. Rolf - he's the one leading the expedition - thinks we might even be able to tame one."

I wish Ron were here for this. Or maybe I don't, because I'd never be able to keep a straight face. I look hurriedly down at the page again. "He's quite young," I say, looking at the picture captioned "Famous Naturalist Rolf Scamander".

"He's only five years older than I am," Luna says. "But he's been to all sorts of places." She gazes dreamily off into the distance. "He said I was the only girl he'd ever met that wasn't bored to death by his stories, but I can't believe that's true," she confides. "He's really fascinating to talk to."

"Sounds as though he likes talking to you, too," I say, smiling at her. My mother-in-law always says there's a lid for every cauldron, and I suppose this proves her point.

"Oh, I don't know," Luna says, waving her hand vaguely. "But the expedition's going to be fun. We're leaving in a week."

"That soon?" I say, startled. "Be careful, Luna. The Tibetan mountains can be awfully treacherous."

"We're not Muggles, Hermione," Luna says, amused. "We'll be fine." She gets up to leave. "I suppose I'd better go - I need to do a bit of shopping for the expedition."

"Thanks for the magazine," I say, hugging her. "And thank your father for me - or maybe I ought to write him a note."

"He'd like that," Luna says. "Well, goodbye, Hermione! Don't let Rita Skeeter get to you!"

"So you've heard," I say.

"Well, I knew it was complete nonsense," Luna assures me. "As though Ron would ever leave you! Only I haven't said anything, since it's so obviously a ploy to cover up what he's really doing."

"What he's really doing?" I echo, wondering what she'll come out with. She probably thinks he's investigating the Rotfang Conspiracy or something.

"Daddy and I thought it might have something to do with the Durmstrang kids who are being indoctrinated into the Brotherhood of Blood," Luna says matter-of-factly. "We aren't quite sure what the Brotherhood is, exactly - only Daddy thinks it might be vampires on account of the name. I expect he's right. But you needn't worry - neither of us will ever say a word to anyone!" She gives me a cheerful wave and departs before I can recover enough to think of an answer.

I drop heavily back into my chair once she's gone. Honestly - vampires of all things. Still, though - Xeno Lovegood's fiction often has a basis in fact. I wouldn't be at all surprised if there was an association called the Brotherhood of Blood. I wonder what it could be? 

**Ron**

I come awake all at once, the way I used to when we were living in the tent. Heart pounding, I reach for my wand with one hand and Hermione with the other before remembering she's not there.

I hate sleeping by myself. The room is dark and silent, and I'm not sure what awakened me. A dream, maybe? I can't remember what I was dreaming about; I never can. I sit up in the darkness, listening, but I can't hear anything except the sound of my own breathing. Maybe living at Durmstrang is just making me paranoid. They say it happens to lots of Aurors - after a while you start hearing things that aren't there, imagining Dark wizards behind every tree. Look at Mad-Eye Moody, for instance…

_Yeah, and look what happened to him,_ a voice in my head says. Even with all his talk of constant vigilance, Barty Crouch managed to catch him off guard. I've been thinking about Barty Crouch a lot lately. I wonder if he took Polyjuice all night long, or if he let himself resume his natural shape at night the way I do? I'm careful, of course. I make sure I've got my locks charmed shut, and I do a Disillusionment Charm on myself before I get into bed, just in case. Not that anyone could get in without me knowing it - I don't think - but still.

_What if they did get in?_ the voice in my head persists. _What if they're in here right now?_

Bloody hell. I slip silently out of bed and light my wand. A quick check of the room shows that it's empty. Still, I feel too uneasy to go back to bed just yet. I light a candle and sit down in an armchair, reaching for the copy of _Chess Monthly_ that arrived for me by owl this morning. Hermione'd be pleased to see me reading, wouldn't she? Even if it is just a magazine and not a book that weighs more than she does. Harris must have arranged for the subscription when he still thought he was going to be here. It's a little more than I ever wanted to know about chess, but it's not such a bad read - although I'd rather have a Quidditch magazine. Or the _Daily Prophet_ - or even the _Quibbler_. I did think about setting up a subscription to the _Prophet_, but all the news would be out of date by the time an owl made it all the way here. Wherever "here" is. I've managed to explore most of the grounds - at least, the bits that don't end at the edge of a cliff - but it doesn't tell me much except that we're in the mountains somewhere. Hermione always reckoned Durmstrang was somewhere in northeastern Europe… she thought maybe Siberia or -

What the hell was that? I blow out the candle and reach for my wand again. It sounded like it came from outside. I edge cautiously toward the window and pull the heavy draperies aside, just a little bit.

The moon is bright, and I can make out the figure of a man near the drawbridge. The bridge been lowered - that must have been the noise that woke me. I press my face against the window, trying to see who it is. The man turns his head in my direction and I hurriedly draw back, but I've seen his face. It's Kirilov, the Dark Arts professor. As I watch, he hurries across the bridge and disappears from sight.

Now where could Kirilov be going at one in the morning? I've tried getting to know him better, but he's brusque to the point of rudeness. I've been here nearly three weeks now, and I haven't managed to get him to say anything beyond "good morning" and "good evening". Only I reckon I'd better think of a way, because it's looking more and more like he could be the key to this whole thing. I wonder why he didn't put a Silencing Charm on the bridge before he let it down? Didn't he think anyone might wake up? Or didn't he care?

I wish I had Hermione here to talk things over with. Well, I can think of a lot of things I'd rather be doing with her right now than talking, but there's no denying she's helped me figure things out before. Gawain says Aurors aren't supposed to talk about their cases with anyone, not even husbands and wives, but what Gawain doesn't know won't hurt him. Anyway, I miss her. And Harry. I try to think what Hermione would make of Kirilov, but it doesn't work. It's not the same as having her here.

Kirilov doesn't come back, although I watch at the window for over an hour. Finally, chilled to the bone, I get back into bed and fall into an uneasy sleep.

It's Dorika who gives me the idea. "Alvays I am hearing about your class from my first-years," she says to me at breakfast. "I am vishing I am a first-year myself, so that I too might be a chess piece!" She laughs, but her eyes are wistful.

"Why not join us tomorrow?" I offer impulsively. "You've got that hour free, don't you?"

Dorika's face lights up. "You are sure? You vould not mind?" she asks eagerly.

"I'd like to have you," I say. And that's when the idea strikes me. "In fact," I add carefully, "I wouldn't mind observing one of your classes as well. I think it's interesting to see how other people teach, don't you? And the subjects are a bit different than the ones I took when I was at Hogwarts - really, I'd like to observe as many different classes as I can."

"You are most velcome to join us in the conservatory," Cezar Gradin offers, looking up politely from his newspaper. He never says much, but he's been pleasant enough on the few occasions when I've found myself next to him at the table. I usually try not to sit next to him because he's always got dirt under his nails. Occupational hazard when you're a Herbology teacher, I reckon, but the food here is unappetizing enough without having dirt added to it. Or maybe that'd improve it.

"Thanks," I say. A few of the others indicate that they wouldn't mind, either - but Kirilov stays conspicuously silent. He's pale and heavy-eyed this morning - signs of a sleepless night?

"And vat about you, Fyodor?" Dorika prods. "I am correct in thinking that the Dark Arts are not taught at Hogvarts, yes?"

"Yes," I say. "I mean, no. We had Defense Against the Dark Arts, but - "

"Hardly the same," Kirilov says, finally condescending to speak. He gives me a dismissive look before adding, "I am sure you vould not approve."

"Just the same," I say firmly, "I'd really like to observe your class some time."

Kirilov looks annoyed, but he can't really say anything when all the others have agreed. "Very well," he says, tight-lipped. "Ve vill see if ve can find vun vhich vill not shock your Hogvarts sensibilities too much." He nods briefly at the others and leaves abruptly.

Excellent - I'm finally getting somewhere. Of course, I'm going to have to sit through about a dozen classes - including the Durmstrang version of History of Magic - but never mind. If I can watch Kirilov interacting with his students, I'm sure I'll be able to guess which ones he's recruiting into the Brotherhood of Blood.

**Hermione**

"If I were you," Basil says softly, "I'd ignore them and concentrate on my career."

I look up to find him watching a trio of gossiping law clerks. It's all too obvious from their furtive glances in my direction that they're talking about me. "That's exactly what I _am_ doing," I protest. "Or trying, anyway."

"You're not trying hard enough," Basil says briskly. "Wasting your time researching giants and merpeople… I'm telling you, Hermione, there are more important issues at stake."

"Like what?" I demand. "Do you think I ought to petition for a four-day work week, like those idiots in Magical Games and Sports?"

"Magical Games and Sports barely put in a four-day week now," Basil says, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. "They're always taking long weekends to go see Quidditch matches - I can't think what they're complaining about. No, I'm talking about something far more important."

"What?" I ask, interested in spite of myself.

"I told you," Basil says maddeningly. "You've got to have lunch with me if you want to hear about it. I am not going to talk about it here." He glances at the law clerks again and lowers his voice. "I'll be honest with you, Hermione - I need your help. You're one of the cleverest witches I've ever met."

I can't resist. "Fine," I say. "One lunch."

**Harry**

Gawain and I wait, motionless under the Cloak, until the footsteps die away. I look at Gawain, but he shakes his head soundlessly. I force myself to stand still in silence for an endless five minutes before he finally gives the signal to Disapparate.

"Well?" I say, once we're safely inside.

Gawain only gives me an impatient look and starts briskly checking the place for jinxes. I suppress a sigh and join him.

"It's all right," Gawain says at last. He takes a seat at the rickety table and motions for me to join him. I pull up a rather unsteady-looking chair across from him, looking around curiously. This is one of the Auror Department's "safe houses", but I haven't ever been in this particular one before. I can see why we don't bother with it much - it's not what you'd call well-furnished, and the neighborhood was a bit on the unsavory side. Still, it's somewhere we can talk.

"That proves it, doesn't it?" I say eagerly. "Jeremy Gamp's definitely in with the Brotherhood of Blood, and he's recruited Lucius Malfoy to join them."

Gawain nods. "It would appear so," he says.

I think myself that he's being a little over-cautious. Jeremy might not have used the exact phrase "Brotherhood of Blood", but it's fairly obvious he's part of a group of purebloods that's planning to overthrow the current Ministry of Magic. He was circumspect during his first meeting with Lucius, but he's let more and more information slip during the three subsequent meetings that followed. Lucius, equally careful in the beginning, went so far tonight as to offer up as much of the Malfoy gold as needed to "further our aims."

"Jeremy came right out and said they were planning to get rid of Kingsley as soon as possible," I remind Gawain. "That's treason - or something - isn't it?"

Gawain looks mildly amused. "Or something," he allows. "However, Harry, I must remind you that he has not disclosed any details. If questioned, Gamp could easily make a case that he wished to replace the current Minister through a perfectly legal appointment by the Wizengamut."

"We're never going to get anything we can use this way," I say impatiently. "Gamp's too bloody careful. We need someone on the inside."

Gawain shakes his head. "Impossible," he says calmly. "A stranger would be treated with suspicion by Gamp and his associates. And before you ask, Harry, I cannot allow you to use Polyjuice Potion and transform yourself into a distant cousin of the Notts or the Montagues. Anyone attempting to gain entry into Gamp's circle would most certainly be followed, and it would be highly suspicious if _two_ of my Aurors suddenly decided to take up distant posts in foreign countries."

Damn it. I hate when he reads my mind. "So we keep watching them," I say, suppressing a sigh. "And if he does say something to incriminate himself - "

"Then we will continue to watch him," Gawain says calmly. "The Minister is under our protection, as you well know. It would be unwise to give away our position until we know who their leader is."

"You don't think it's Jeremy, then?" I ask. I don't either, but I want to hear what Gawain says.

"Certainly not," Gawain says. "Gamp is a recruiter, nothing more. He's been sent to England to gather supporters and funds. Once he has accomplished his mission, I feel sure that he will be recalled."

I frown. "Then why do they care about our Ministry?" I ask. "If they're not even based in England - "

"I am not entirely sure that they do," Gawain says softly, and waits.

"Oh," I say, getting it. "But Malfoy does, and they want his backing."

"They want his gold, certainly," Gawain agrees. "Malfoy is far more likely to be generous, after all, if he feels it will benefit his own position - and he prefers to live in England. Rumor has it that he very much disliked being exiled."

I'm silent for a few minutes, thinking. "Will we follow Jeremy when he leaves?" I ask.

Gawain's eyes meet mine. "I do not believe it will be necessary," he says. "We have someone in place already, do we not?"

I realize, startled, that he means Ron. "Durmstrang," I half-whisper, and Gawain nods.

"Have you heard anything?" I venture carefully. Gawain doesn't want me to talk about what Ron's doing, but surely it's safe to speak here.

He shakes his head. "The first Quidditch match is next weekend," he reminds me. "We shall likely be able to learn a great deal then."

**Ron**

I never thought I'd be looking forward to seeing Krum of all people, but it just goes to show you what homesickness will do to a person. Even though he doesn't know who I really am - and I can't ask him about Hermione or my family, obviously - at least I can find out about Harry. And maybe Krum'll bring me a _Daily Prophet_ or something. I'm going mental not knowing what's happening at home.

The kids are getting excited, too. There are six teams - not sorted by house, like at Hogwarts, but ranked according to ability. The sixth and seventh years are on the better teams, obviously, but there are a couple of second and third year kids that look to be shaping into pretty decent players. I've watched a number of practices - partly as a way of getting to know the kids better outside of the classroom, and partly because it makes a nice break from chess. I mean, I like it and all, but enough.

Meanwhile, I think I've got a pretty good idea of which kids have had contact with the Brotherhood. They're quite easy to spot - a tight group of fifth, sixth and seventh years who look down on the rest of the school with an attitude that makes Draco Malfoy look positively humble. They're polite to the teachers - barely - but I've noticed the rest of the kids pretty much give them their way on everything. Not all of them are in my classes - chess is optional after third year - but a few of them are, including Boris Androchev's older brother, Grigor.

"Professor!" Anya's at my side, tugging at my sleeve. "Professor, I vish to tell you that I am vriting to my father and I am telling him that Chess is my favorite class."

"Is it?" I say, feeling slightly astonished. I never thought I'd be much good as a teacher, but it seems like at least one kid likes me. "Well, that's really great, Anya. Tell your father I said you're going to be an excellent chess player, and you just might be able to beat him the next time you play."

Anya giggles. "My father is also an - " She hesitates and then sounds the word out carefully "ex-cell-ent player. It means very good, yes?"

"Yes," I say. I glance around and can't help feeling relieved that none of the other teachers seem to be in sight. Still, it's just as well to be careful. "Hadn't you better get to class, Anya?"

"It is only History of the Magical Vorld," Anya says dismissively. "It is not so interesting as Chess. I vill see you in class tomorrow, Professor!"

I watch as she hurries off. Grigor Androchev and a few of his mates are watching her, too, and something about it makes me uncomfortable. "You're going to be late, Grigor," I say sharply.

Grigor stares boldly back at me for a minute, and I wonder if he's going to answer back. I sort of wish he would - I wouldn't mind putting him in detention. I might be able to get him to accidentally spill a bit about the Brotherhood. But after a moment he turns away. "Come," he says to his friends, and they follow. One of them mutters something foreign, and the others laugh - not a nice laugh.

They're definitely involved - if there's anything to be involved in - but for the life of me I can't figure out how I'm going to prove it. I wish there was a Marauders Map for Durmstrang.

The seventh years are my last class of the day. I've given them a new defensive strategy to work on, and I walk up and down the aisles checking on the game play. I'm helping two of the students when I hear the whispering start. It's coming from the desk where Grigor Androchev's been paired with a boy called Nikolas Something-or-other. (I can barely manage their first names, let alone the surnames.)

"Something wrong, Grigor?" I ask, turning to face him.

"It is an insult to my family, asking me to play with _him_," Grigor says, looking contemptuously at Nikolas.

"Why?" I ask, startled. Nikolas isn't one of the half-bloods - I'd never force one of them to play with a snob like Grigor - and as far as I know, he's well-liked by the other students. "I matched you according to ability. Nikolas is a slightly better player than you are, but you should be able to keep up."

There are a few hastily muffled giggles from behind me, but I don't turn around. Grigor's face reddens, but he doesn't answer.

"Nikolas, do you have a problem with Grigor?" I ask mildly.

Nikolas hesitates. "I think, Professor, it is best if ve find other partners," he says apologetically. "I do not vish to be disturbing the class."

There's something going on here, but damned if I know what it is. "Fine," I say. "Nikolas, you can join Katya and Irina. Observe them for fifteen minutes and then trade places with one of them."

Nikolas brightens. Katya and Irina are the two prettiest girls in the seventh year. "Thank you, Professor!" he says happily. He manages to knock over a chair in his haste to join them, but the girls politely pretend not to notice.

"Vat about me?" Grigor asks sulkily.

"Since I can't trust you to be polite to your fellow students, you're going to play against me," I tell him.

"But this is unfair!" Grigor protests. "You vill vin, alvays." He folds his arms. "I vill not do it."

Thanks, Grigor - you just made this really easy for me. "Oh, I think you will," I say smoothly. "Only we aren't going to play now. Instead, you will join me for a detention this evening. Report to me at eight o'clock."

Grigor opens his mouth. "Don't," I warn. "Not unless you'd like detention for the rest of the week as well." This is sort of fun, this giving out detentions.

Grigor glares, but he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut. "You can read over the chapter in your book while everyone else practices," I tell him, and walk away.

**Hermione**

"Where are we going?" I ask, hurrying to keep up with Basil as he sets off down the street. "And you might slow down - my legs aren't as long as yours."

"Sorry," Basil apologizes. He slows his pace to a snail's crawl. "Better?"

I think of telling him I'm not exactly his great-grandmother, but at least I'll have a chance to catch my breath. "It's all right," I say instead. "Ron's tall, too - I'm always having to tell him to - " I break off in confusion, but Basil doesn't seem to notice.

"Let's go in here," he says abruptly, turning into a nearby tea shop.

We're far enough from the Ministry to be able to avoid most of our co-workers. A pair of elderly witches near the door eye us with interest, but I keep my head down so they won't recognize me.

"Over here," Basil says, leading me to a table in the corner. I make sure I have my back to the room as we sit down.

"Now," Basil says, once an indifferent-looking witch has sent menus soaring in our direction. "I suppose you're wondering what this is all about."

"Of course I am," I say impatiently. "Do get on with it, Basil."

He looks amused. "Most girls would have denied it," he says. "You're very refreshing, Hermione."

I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but I don't particularly care. "Basil," I say warningly, and he laughs.

"All right," he says. He looks around and lowers his voice, suddenly serious. "Are you aware that a number of pro-pureblood laws are still on the books?"

"They can't be," I say at once. "Kingsley repealed every piece of legislation that Pius Thicknesse put through. It was one of the first things he did when he took office."

"I'm not talking about those," Basil says. "I'm talking about the laws that were already in place - before Thicknesse; before Scrimgeour; even before Fudge. Laws that many people aren't aware of - laws that may not even be enforced most of the time - but laws that are, nonetheless, in existence."

I stare at him. "Like what?" I say blankly.

"For instance," Basil says. "Did you know that as a Muggle-born witch, you are prohibited from owning a house-elf?"

"I wouldn't want to own one," I answer automatically. "You know perfectly well that I think all house-elves should be free."

"Nonetheless," Bail persists. "If you wanted a house-elf, you couldn't have one. Now, your husband could own one - he's a pureblood, isn't he? - but if you applied for one yourself, you'd be turned down." He grins at me. "So would I, as a matter of fact - I'm a half-blood."

"I know of at least one half-blood with a house-elf," I argue, not wanting to mention Harry by name.

If Basil guesses, he doesn't let on. "I'd be willing to bet your friend inherited his - or her - elf along with a house," he answers. "That's allowed."

"The elf being considered nothing more than a piece of furniture, I suppose," I say, annoyed.

Basil sighs. "We're getting off track," he says. "I wish I hadn't used house-elves as an example - I'd forgotten you had a bit of a thing about them." He holds up a hand as I open my mouth to protest. "My point, Hermione, is that there are a number of antiquated laws in place that need to be researched and repealed. Will you help me?"

"Yes, of course," I say, privately resolving that I'm going to have one more go at reforming the House-Elf Legislation while I'm at it. "What do you want me to do?"

Basil promptly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick scroll of parchment. "I've listed every law that even mentions blood status in the wording," he says, unrolling several closely written pages. "Now we have to go through and prioritize them."

I don't mind helping - I've been longing for a project to take my mind off things - but I know Basil well enough to wonder what he's up to. He'd never be this interested if there wasn't something in it for him. "Why are you doing this?" I ask abruptly.

"For recognition, of course," Basil says promptly. "I want to be Head of the Wizengamut one day. This is the sort of thing that will get me noticed." He grins at me. "And you, too, of course. You're far too intelligent to waste your time on all those little do-gooder projects you seem to be so fond of."

"I want to help people," I say indignantly.

"You will," Basil says placatingly. "I've told you before, Hermione - once you have the Wizengamut's backing, you can do whatever you like. I'll personally promise you right now that if you help me on this, I'll do my utmost to get your next petition passed - even if it's something completely pointless."

"I - well, all right," I say, swallowing the insult. I wouldn't be surprised if Basil did make it to be Head of the Wizengamut one day. He's awfully ambitious.

"Bless your little reformer's heart," Basil says happily. He motions to the waitress. "What's good today?"

I study the list while we eat. Goodness, some of these are ancient. "I'll go straight to Magical Records when we get back," I say.

"You may have to use the Hogwarts library as well," Basil says. "I've found a number of things there that I couldn't find anywhere else." He peers at me. "What's wrong?"

"Hogwarts," I admit, blushing. "I'm afraid they'll all ask me about - Basil, you must have seen what Rita Skeeter wrote about me; don't pretend you haven't."

"Of course I saw it," Basil admits at once. "I suppose it would be a bit uncomfortable for you - all your old teachers prying, that sort of thing. Very well, I'll do the Hogwarts research."

"Thanks," I say, looking down. "I appreciate you being so - well - "

"Not nosy?" Basil suggests and grins. "My dear girl, it's the best thing that could have happened to you. Now you can really concentrate on your career. Weasley was holding you back, you know."

"He was _not_!" I say furiously.

"No?" Basil says, lifting an eyebrow. "Very well, then - let's agree to disagree. Meanwhile, can I count on your support?"

I want to argue - how _dare_ he say that about Ron - but I'm supposed to be letting everyone think we really have split up. Anyway, I want this project. "Yes," I say reluctantly.

"Excellent," Basil says, pleased. "Ah, here's the food. Looks quite good, doesn't it?"

**Harry**

I wait until he's about to Disapparate before I speak. "Hello, Draco," I say softly.

Malfoy starts and looks around wildly. "Who's there?" he snaps. "I demand that you show yourself at once!" He's trying to seem tough, but only succeeds in sounding terrified.

I pull back the Cloak, just long enough to let him see my face.

Malfoy groans. "I might have known," he says, disgusted. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want to talk to you," I answer. Malfoy looks nervously over his shoulder at the Manor. "Not here," I add quickly. I've taken the precaution of doing a _Muffliato_ Charm, but if Lucius or Narcissa should come home unexpectedly, I don't want them to be greeted with the sight of their son apparently having a conversation with himself in the front garden.

"We could go inside, I suppose," Malfoy says unwillingly. "My parents are both out."

_I know,_ I almost say, but I restrain myself. Lucius has probably guessed that he's being followed, but there's no point in rubbing it in. "I think we'd better go somewhere else," I say instead. "Will you take my arm?"

Malfoy hesitates. "You're not going to bring me to Azkaban or anything, are you?" he asks suspiciously.

He really is an idiot, isn't he? "Why the hell would I do that?" I say impatiently, without pausing to choose my words more carefully. But my tone evidently convinces him, because he puts out a reluctant hand.

"Fine," he says. "But it's got to be quick, mind! I've got important plans."

_Yeah, right._ I grab his arm and turn with him on the spot.

"Where are we?" Malfoy asks, looking around a few seconds later. "We're not in the Forbidden Forest, are we?" He clutches his wand and half-turns in a circle, peering suspiciously at the trees.

He looks like he's about to wet himself. I'm half-tempted to say yes (and Ron definitely would have) but I need Malfoy to keep his wits about him. "No," I admit. "We're in - some other forest. Hardly anyone ever comes here, but it's not magical or anything." As a matter of fact, we're in the Forest of Dean, but I don't want to tell him that in case I need to use the place again. I don't think there's any chance of running into campers or hikers this late in the season, but I came here before I fetched Malfoy and put Muggle Repelling charms around this clearing, just in case.

"Oh," Malfoy says, losing interest. "A Muggle place. Well, what do you want, Potter?"

"I told you," I say calmly. "I just wanted to talk. It's been a few years since we've seen each other, and I just wondered how things were going."

"Right," Malfoy says, his eyes narrowing. "Because we were _such_ close friends. I suppose the Aurors put you up to this."

"The Aurors have nothing to do with it," I answer, truthfully enough. Gawain's probably going to kill me when he finds out what I've done, but we weren't getting anywhere just watching people.

"If you think you're going to trick me into saying anything about my father, you can think again," Malfoy warns.

"It's not about your father," I say. _Not directly, anyway._

"Oh, so we're just catching up for old times' sake?" Malfoy says sarcastically. "Right, then. I've spent the last few years being bored out of my skull in New Zealand. Then we came back. End of story." He grins at me maliciously. "I heard you got married. Congratulations - Ginny's pretty hot for a blood traitor. Of course, if she's anything like her brother, she'll probably get bored and ditch you. Not that I blame him, mind - I'd rather marry Moaning Myrtle than Granger."

He's just asking for it, isn't he? Ron would have flattened him, but I have to let it go. I need his help. "Been seeing rather a lot of the Greengrass family since you got back, haven't you?" I say casually.

Malfoy's grin fades. "So?" he says truculently.

"So, nothing," I say, still casual. "Astoria's a nice girl." _She just has really bad taste in boyfriends._ "I'm just worried about some of the people she's having to associate with these days. Her future brother-in-law, for instance."

I'm taking a big risk here - for all I know, Malfoy could go straight to Jeremy Gamp and tell him the Aurors have their eye on him - but I'm betting that his concern for Astoria will take priority. I watch carefully, measuring the effect of my words.

Malfoy's face betrays him. "Jeremy Gamp," he says at once. "Why? Do you know something about him? You don't think he'd try to hurt Astoria, do you?" He's trying to stay calm, but there's an edge of panic in his voice. I remember Clarissa and feel briefly regretful, but the truth is, Astoria really could be in danger.

"I think Jeremy Gamp would hurt anyone who got in his way," I say quietly. "He's trouble, Malfoy. Can't you tell?"

"I don't know what you mean," Malfoy mutters.

"I think you do," I say. "What's he really doing here? And don't tell me he's in love with Daphne, because I've seen them together."

Malfoy grins reluctantly. "Astoria said that, too," he admits. "She doesn't like him much."

"Clever of her," I say. "Although it could be dangerous. I hope she hasn't said that to anyone but you."

Malfoy looks down, not answering.

"He's got some rather odd friends, don't you think?" I persist.

"They're not odd," Malfoy protests. "They're just foreign. Gamp went to Durmstrang." But his face says otherwise.

"Not a very friendly lot," I remark. "I don't like to think what they'd do to a girl like Astoria if she got in their way. I don't suppose they'd show her much mercy."

"What do they want, then?" Malfoy asks loudly. "Why can't you stop them? _You're_ supposed to be the big hero!"

"All heroes need help, Draco," I say softly.

"Oh, no," Malfoy says at once. "You're not dragging me into this, Potter!"

"Isn't it worth it?" I say persuasively. "Isn't _Astoria_ worth it?"

Malfoy's resistance crumbles. He gives me a look which almost makes me like him. "Do you really think she's in danger?" he asks pathetically.

"You can save her," I tell him.

Malfoy looks away for a minute. "All right," he says at last, straightening his shoulders. "What do you want me to do?" 

**Ron**

It's the last class of the day on the Friday before the big Quidditch weekend, and my fourth-years couldn't be less interested in chess. I don't blame them - I can't concentrate either, although it's not because I'm excited about Quidditch. It's more because Krum's going to be here in a few hours expecting a report and I haven't got a damned thing to tell him.

It's not because I haven't been trying. I've visited almost every class Durmstrang offers - including History of the Magical World, which is just as boring taught by a live person as it is by a ghost - but it hasn't gotten me anywhere. Bloody Kirilov finally agreed to let me sit in on Dark Arts, and then he spent the entire period quizzing the kids on spell definitions. And the other teachers Krum said were suspicious didn't give me much else to work with. Etilka Varga, the Ancient Runes teacher, is unfriendly but it's not like she's any nicer to anyone else than she is to me. She's even rude to Baranov. And Andor Miklos from Astronomy is bloody weird, but I didn't detect any signs of Dark Wizardry.

I've tried searching the castle, too, but it hasn't been easy. It's a small place - not like Hogwarts - and Baranov's always suddenly appearing around corners. I'm beginning to think it's not an accident. I asked Gawain before I left if I could take one of the Department's Invisibility Cloaks, but he said they couldn't spare it and I'd have to get along on Disillusionment Charms. My room's been searched, too. Whoever it was didn't take anything, but I could tell things had been disturbed. Luckily I had all the Polyjuice stuff Transfigured to look like Rejuva-Grow Hair Tonic, so there was nothing for them to find.

I reckon Gawain made a mistake, sending me to do this job. I'm okay as a chess player, but it seems like I'm not much good as an Auror. I'm sick of being Harris, and of feeling ill all the time from taking Polyjuice, and of being all alone here without anyone I can trust… and I miss Hermione. I miss her so much that it's hard to concentrate on anything else.

The bell rings, and the kids look as relieved as I feel. "Off you go," I tell them. "See you at the match." I'm going, of course - it'd look strange if I didn't. I wonder how long I can avoid Krum? He might be here in the castle already, waiting for me.

I'm about to retreat to my private quarters when I realize one of the kids is still here. It's one of the half-blood lot. (What's his name again? Something like Christopher, only foreign.) "Did you want to speak to me?" I ask.

The boy looks up, startled. Kristov, that's it. Kristov - Something. "I do not vish to be disturbing you, Professor," he answers quickly. "I vill be leaving in a moment." He makes his way to the door and hesitates there, peering out into the corridor uncertainly.

Something in his manner reminds me suddenly of Neville trying to avoid an encounter with Crabbe and Goyle. Well, stands to reason, doesn't it? Grigor and his mates are probably hanging about or something. "If you haven't anything better to do, would you like to have a cup of tea with me?" I ask, making my voice casual. "Maybe you could tell me a bit about the two teams who are playing this weekend. I'm afraid I haven't learned as much about them as I should have." This last bit is definitely a lie. You'd have to be blind and deaf not to know about the teams, when the kids haven't talked about anything else all week, but Kristov looks like he could do with a bit of a distraction.

Kristov's face lights up. "I vould very much like to help you, Professor!" he answers.

We spend the next twenty minutes talking about Quidditch. Kristov is both envious and impressed when I tell him I saw Krum play in the World Cup against Ireland (although I'm careful not to mention that I was a kid at the time, since that would seriously throw off my Harris-timetable). "I vould like to be a Seeker like Viktor Krum vun day," he says with a sigh.

"Is that the position you play?" I ask, surprised. Kristov hadn't mentioned being on a team himself.

"Not here at Durmstrang," Kristov says shortly. "Ve are not allowed."

Now that's going too far, if you ask me. Half-bloods aren't even allowed to play Quidditch? I guess they could get up their own league - there are just about enough of them to make up two teams - but it wouldn't be the same. "Kristov, if you don't mind me asking, why exactly did you want to come here?" I ask, giving in to a question I've wanted to ask since my first day.

Kristov's eyes meet mine for a second, then slide away. "It is not that ve _vant_ to," he answers simply. "It is that there is novhere else, do you see?"

Not exactly. "There's Hogwarts," I offer. "And Beauxbatons. And, er - " Bloody hell, there must be others. Hermione would know. _No, don't think about her…_

"Hogvarts is very far away," Kristov answers. "And at Beauxbatons, they do not like us any better than they do here."

"They don't mind if you're half-blood at Beauxbatons," I protest. "They don't even mind if you're Muggle-born."

"No," Kristov says with a wry smile. "But they mind very much if you are not French."

Oh. Right. Come to think of it, my sister-in-law does seem to have a slight prejudice in that direction. "There must be other schools," I say, trying to think what in hell they are.

Kristov shrugs. "A few," he answers. "They are not very good. I am going to vun in Romania my first year, and I am not learning anything. And there vas not such good food as here, and the castle vas not so comfortable."

Bloody hell. The food at his old school was worse?

"At least here I am getting a good education," Kristov finishes. "The rest of it - vell, it is not so pleasant, but ve stick together and ve are all right… most of the time."

He looks suddenly uncomfortable, as though he thinks he's said too much. "You vill haf things you vish to be doing, Professor," he says abruptly, getting to his feet. "I vill be going now. Thank you for the English tea." He gives me a short formal bow and scurries toward the door before I can stop him.

I start to go after him, but then stop myself. There's no point in making the poor kid more uncomfortable. I can wait to find out the rest.

I'm still standing in the doorway when I see Etilka Varga striding down the corridor. I give her a big smile, just to see if she'll ignore me like she usually does. To my surprise she stops.

"May I come in, Professor Harris?" she asks.

I'm almost too stunned to answer, but I recover in time to motion her into the room. I hope she's not going to ask me what I thought of her Ancient Runes class, because my only reaction was "there's an hour of my life I'll never get back."

She doesn't, though. Instead, she closes the door behind her and makes a wand motion that I recognize instantly as a nonverbal Soundproofing Charm. I thought only Aurors knew that one - but then again, everything's different here.

"I vas vundering, Professor Harris," Etilka says in a low voice. "If you haf given any more thought to the conversation ve had last summer."

**Hermione**

I've been staying at the Ministry later and later to work on my research. I wish I could take the books home, but several of them are so rare that they're not allowed out of Magical Records. Ernie doesn't usually mind - he's often there late himself - but tonight he seems to be in rather a hurry.

"I wonder if you'd mind finishing up tomorrow," he says finally.

I look up in surprise. "It's only six o'clock," I say, looking at my watch. "Have you got plans or something?"

Ernie blushes. "Sort of," he says.

I smile at him. "Is she nice?"

Ernie smiles back. "She's brilliant," he says happily. "Do you mind, Hermione? You can take that one with you, if you like. I wouldn't let just anyone, but I know you understand how important the Records are."

I close the book in front of me and manage to squeeze it into my overcrowded bag by doing an Enlarging Charm. "Have fun," I say over my shoulder.

I'm almost to the Atrium when I realize I don't feel like going home yet. The flat's too lonely without Ron. I turn and retrace my steps, intending to head back to my desk in Magical Law.

It's Friday evening, and the Ministry's nearly deserted. I suppose everyone had better things to do… everyone except me. I don't think I've been alone here this late in the evening in ages. It's almost a bit scary, and I have to repress a squeak of alarm when someone suddenly appears from around the corner.

"Perdita!" I say, offering her a wide smile. "Working late?"

Perdita doesn't smile back. "Hello, Hermione," she says coolly.

"It's been ages since I've seen you," I manage after a second. Goodness, I promised Marvin I'd talk to her weeks ago. "Er, how have you been?"

Perdita turns to press the lift button, not answering, and I covertly examine her in profile. Her pregnancy is obvious now, and I can't help wondering why she's still coming to work. Marvin said something about bed rest, didn't he? "Are you feeling well?" I persist nervously.

"I'm fine," Perdita says curtly. "Hadn't you heard? I'm having a baby."

"I know," I say. "R - er, Marvin told me. Congratulations."

Perdita's eyes flicker in my direction, and I can tell she's noticed my slip. "Thanks," she says flatly.

"Perdita, what's wrong?" I ask bluntly. "You haven't been yourself for weeks now."

"And how would you know that?" Perdita asks, still not looking at me. "I know you couldn't have heard it from Ron, so it must have been my dear husband."

"He cares about you, that's all," I say. "Look, Perdita, why don't we go and have a cup of tea or something. Maybe I can help you."

Perdita laughs coldly. "You're the last person who ought to be dispensing marital advice, it seems to me," she observes. The lift door opens and she pauses before getting on. "Half the Ministry saw you lunching with Basil Sedgewick last week," she says over her shoulder. "Not wasting any time, are you?"

The lift doors close behind her before I can frame an adequate answer. "It was a business meeting," I protest, but Perdita's already gone.

Oh dear. I hope "half the Ministry" doesn't include anyone who's on Rita Skeeter's payroll. Although I suppose Gawain would be delighted - it adds credence to the whole story.

Suddenly I'm not in the mood to do research after all. I think I'd just like to go home.

**Harry**

"What's wrong?" Ginny asks sleepily.

"Sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep - I'll go downstairs and read for a bit." _If I can concentrate on a book, that is._

Ginny props herself up on an elbow. I can barely make out her face in the darkness. "Have you got something on your mind?" she asks sympathetically.

"Sort of," I admit.

Ginny sits up the rest of the way, settling a pillow against the headboard. "It's about Ron, isn't it?" she says.

I'm half-tempted to say yes - and after all, Ron's involved in all this in ways she doesn't know anything about - but I don't want to get Ginny started on the whole thing again. "It's not Ron," I say. "It's just something to do with work."

Ginny's silent for a minute. "Guilty conscience?" she asks lightly.

"How'd you know?" I ask, startled.

"Because I know you," Ginny answers. "Right now I'd say you did something that seemed like a good idea at the time, and now you're having second thoughts."

This is so uncannily accurate that I can only stare blankly at her in the dark. "You haven't learned Legilimency and forgotten to tell me?" I manage at last.

"I'm right, then," Ginny says, sounding satisfied. "Can you tell me, or is it a secret?"

Everything I do at work is supposed to be a secret, but that hasn't exactly stopped me in the past. Anyway, Ginny knows Draco Malfoy a lot better than Gawain does. I'd like to hear what she thinks before I have to confess to him. _"Muffliato,"_ I say, even though our house has every possible charm in the world on it already.

Ginny listens in silence until I've finished. "I suppose Gawain wouldn't agree with me, but I think it was rather a good idea," she says finally.

I feel a huge sense of relief - even though I think she's right about the Gawain bit. "You don't think Malfoy's going to break down and tell Lucius?" I ask.

"Lucius doesn't have big blue eyes," Ginny says. "It sounds like Draco's completely gone on Astoria. Mind, she's the type that always seems like she needs rescuing. I can see why that would appeal to someone like him."

"You can?" I ask, startled. Draco Malfoy's never struck me as the knight in shining armor sort, but Ginny's a lot better at reading people than I am.

"Of course," Ginny says briskly. "His father thinks he's weak and the rest of the world looks on him as a failed Death Eater who changed sides when the going got a bit rough. Astoria looks up to him - why, I don't know, but there it is. It's absolutely irresistible."

I give up on trying to work out Malfoy's love life and return to the subject that concerns me the most. "His father, though…" I say.

"As long as you don't tell Draco you suspect Lucius, there's no reason for him to mention it to his father at all," Ginny says. "You haven't, have you?"

I shake my head and then realize she can't see me in the dark. "I never said a word about it," I say aloud. "I just told him I thought Gamp was up to something and that if Astoria got in the way, she could be in trouble."

"Perfect," Ginny says decidedly. She leans over and kisses me. "Must you tell Gawain? Maybe you ought to wait and see if Draco comes up with anything useful first."

I'd had the same thought myself, but dismissed it as cowardly. "No, I'll tell him first thing in the morning," I say with a sigh. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

**Ron**

Krum's already sitting at the staff table when I go down to dinner. He looks up from his borscht - which he's eating with evident enjoyment - and gives me a brief nod. I return the nod and look down at my plate without enthusiasm. The house-elves already know I'll be skipping the soup course, but the charred lump of meat and cold potato that they've set in front of me isn't exactly a treat. At least Harris is losing weight - he's dropped nearly half a stone already.

Krum ignores me through most of the meal, directing his conversation to Baranov and the flying coach, a large silent man called either Ivor or Ivan (when he does speak, he mumbles, so I'm not really sure what his name is). I've just about decided to leave (really, there's no point in waiting for pudding - if we have anything at all, it's usually stale cake) when I realize that Krum's speaking to me.

"Sorry?" I say. "I didn't catch that."

Krum eyes me. "I vas just explaining to Ivan and Sergei the difference between Qvidditch as it is played here and the vay it is played by the students at Hogvarts," he says. "I am thinking you vill find it very different. Vould you perhaps like to be accompanying me to vatch the practice sessions this evening so I can be explaining to you the difference?"

It takes me a second to work out that last sentence, but it's clear enough what Krum wants. He's ready to hear my report. "Yes, thank you," I answer. "That's very kind of you."

Krum's already waiting for me when I join him ten minutes later near the front door. "Not here," he warns in a low voice, before I've even opened my mouth.

I throw him an annoyed look - has he forgotten I'm a trained Auror?- before remembering that Krum doesn't know I'm an Auror at all. He thinks I'm a professional chess player called Harris. Anyway, he's too busy looking amused by what I'm wearing to notice my irritation.

"You are sure you vill be varm enough?" he says politely, but there's a hint of laughter in his voice.

Personally I don't see what's so funny. It's bloody freezing here - it feels more like January than October - and anyone with any sense would be wearing at least as many layers as I am. Krum throws a light cloak over his shoulders and throws the door open, politely waving me through first.

An icy wind seems to cut straight through all four of my knitted jumpers. With Krum's eye on me, I try not to shiver. "You may vish to order some varmer things for vinter, Professor Harris," Krum says, still politely. "It is vise to haf at least vun fur cloak to vear. The castle is not very vell-heated."

"Yeah, I'd noticed that," I say tightly.

We don't exchange another word until we're well away from the castle. The Quidditch pitch is located in a valley behind the school. It's not a long walk, but it takes all my energy to fight against the wind. Krum, much to my dismay, stops at the top of the hill. "Ve vill haf the best view from here," he assures me.

"Yeah, great," I say, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. But he's right about the view - no one's going to be able to sneak up on us here. Nonetheless, I do a quick nonverbal _Muffliato_ while Krum's looking over his shoulder.

"Vell?" Krum asks, turning to face me.

I give him a quick rundown of what I've learned - not much, really. "I think Kirilov's controlling them, but I haven't been able to catch him at anything," I add. "You might tell Robards it would be a lot easier with an Invisibility Cloak." (Worth another go, isn't it?)

"Oh, and you were quite right about Etilka Varga." I hesitate for a second. I can't exactly tell Krum that Etilka was the one who approached Harris last summer when he thinks _I'm_ Harris. "Tell Robards," I say carefully, "that she spoke to someone he knows a few months ago. Tell him I'm going to play along with her." It's a bit vague, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.

Krum looks puzzled, but nods. "Vat about the children?" he asks. "Haf you been able to tell - "

"Which ones are being recruited?" I interrupt. "Yeah - it's not exactly difficult when they go round acting like bloody Slytherins."

Krum looks appreciative. The Durmstrang kids had to sit with the Slytherins in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, so he knows exactly what I mean.

"I'm a bit worried about the half-blood kids," I add. "It could get really dangerous for them here if this thing blows up. Tell Robards - no, tell Harry - that I may need to get the lot of them out of here in a hurry. I need a safe place to bring them."

"Tell Harry," Krum repeats slowly.

Bloody hell - maybe I shouldn't have said it like that. "A similar situation existed at Hogwarts in the year before the Battle," I say quickly. "I thought Harry Potter would know the most about how to deal with that sort of thing." Come to think of it, I know a fair bit about it myself. Where's a secret passage to the Hog's Head when you need one?

"You know him vell?" Krum asks curiously.

"Who, Harry Potter?" I ask. "No - I met him for the first time just before I came here. What about you?"

Krum shrugs. "Ve vere TriVizard champions together," he says. "It has been many years, but I find that he does not change."

I decide we'd better get off the subject of Harry. "What's going on in London these days?" I ask, trying to keep the longing out of my voice. "I don't suppose you brought a newspaper or anything with you?"

"I did not think of it," Krum says apologetically. "I vill bring vun next time, yes?" His face brightens. "I haf a magazine vhich might amuse you," he adds. "It vas given to me as a joke, I think, but it is at least in English." He rummages in a pocket and pulls out a rolled-up _Quibbler_. "You vould like?"

I never thought I'd be so excited to see the bloody _Quibbler_. "Yeah, thanks," I say, stuffing it in my own pocket. Hermione said Xeno Lovegood was going to write an article about her Wolfsbane Project - maybe it's in this issue. Maybe there's even a picture of her… I didn't dare bring one with me.

Krum looks past me, down toward the Quidditch field. "I must go now and vatch the rest of the practice," he tells me. "You are, of course, velcome to join me."

"Thanks, but I think I'll get back to the castle," I say.

**Hermione**

The weekend stretches before me, long and empty. Usually I go in to the Ministry on Saturdays now, but it's pouring rain today and I don't feel like making the effort. I pour myself another cup of tea and look around restlessly. The flat is painfully neat - no need to do any cleaning charms. Crookshanks and Pig are both sound asleep. I suppose I could write to Mum and Dad, but it's difficult to think of things to say when I obviously can't tell them the truth about what's going on. Harry wanted me to go with him to Ginny's Quidditch match today, but I just couldn't face it. I know I'd be thinking the whole time of the matches Ron and I went to with him last year, and heaven knows I don't need any more reminders of how desperately I'm missing Ron. What I really need is a distraction - but what?

My eyes fall on a carton of books in the corner. I never did get around to unpacking them because we don't have anywhere near enough bookcases. Still, I suppose I ought to sort through them and see if there are any we don't need. Ron and I have lots of duplicates from school (mine are in far better condition than his), and there's no need to keep two copies of everything.

Feeling slightly cheered at the prospect of a project, I kneel down in front of the carton and lift the books out one by one. _The Monster Book of Monsters_… that can certainly stay in the box (forever). Here's the biography of Celestina Warbeck that Molly gave me last Christmas - I suppose I'd better put that on the bookshelf so she thinks I read it. Here are the Lockhart books we had to buy second year - those can jolly well go to the second-hand store. (Well, not Ron's copies, because he wrote rude things about Lockhart in all of them.) And here - what's this? I pull out a small book with a battered-looking cloth cover and open it curiously.

A wave of memory sweeps over me. Barty Crouch's diary - goodness, I'd forgotten all about it. I suppose we should have turned it in to the Aurors years ago. I flip idly through the pages, reading an entry here and there. I turn a page - and then turn back, my attention drawn by an unexpected phrase. Sweeping the other books out of the way, I sit down on the floor next to the carton and read the passage again.

**Harry**

The weather's better in Falmouth than it was in London - a piece of good luck since the Harpies are playing the Falcons today. I try to get to as many of Ginny's games as I can, but owing to what's been going on at work, this is the first match I've made it to this season. I tried to get Hermione to come with me, but she said she was too busy with work. Ginny and I are both worried about her, but work has always been Hermione's preferred method of coping.

I glance across the field just in time to see Draco Malfoy murmur an excuse to Pansy Parkinson as he slips from his seat on the Falcons side. I hastily get to my feet and follow several feet behind him.

Malfoy's moving in the general direction of the refreshment tent, but he veers off just as he gets there, heading instead to our prearranged meeting place in a convenient grove of trees. I make sure I'm not being watched and then join him.

"If I'd known you were going to try to get me to date Pansy," Malfoy says without preamble, "I'd have turned you down. I thought I was supposed to be looking after Astoria."

"You are," I say, trying my best to be convincing. "It's just one day - and it looks like you've got pretty good seats."

"We're not even in a box," Malfoy says, looking irritated. "Some fat witch on my other side keeps crowding me into Pansy."

I'll bet Pansy doesn't mind that at all, but I decide I'd better not say so. Malfoy's evidently not in the best of moods. "Just see if you can find out anything about her brother," I say.

"She hasn't heard from him in years," Malfoy says promptly. "I already asked her. Pansy used to think he was hiding out in Spain, but the Parkinsons went to their villa last holidays and there wasn't a sign of him."

I could have told him that - we've had the villa in Spain staked out for years - but never mind.

"Why do you want to know about Simon anyway?" Malfoy's asking. "He's probably dead - it's been years since anyone's heard of him."

"Probably," I say, purposely vague. "I just wondered."

"If that's all you wanted, there's no need for me to stay," Malfoy says hopefully. "I'll just tell Pansy I feel ill or something."

"It's not all I wanted," I remind him. "Pansy's Daphne's best friend - she's bound to have spent a lot of time with Jeremy Gamp by now. Get her talking about him - see what you can find out."

Malfoy sighs. "Pansy wants to go for cocktails after the match," he says. "I suppose I could just about manage that. She always gets chatty when she's had a few drinks."

"Excellent," I say encouragingly.

"She gets affectionate, too," Malfoy says darkly. "You bloody well owe me for this, Potter."

I try not to laugh, picturing Malfoy fighting off the advances of an inebriated Pansy. "You're doing this for Astoria, not me," I remind him.

"That's another thing," Malfoy says crossly. "Pansy's bound to tell Daphne that I took her out, and Daphne'll tell Astoria." He glares at me.

"So what?" I say. "Tell her you and Pansy are friends, that's all. Ginny's never been jealous of Hermione."

Malfoy snorts. "Because Granger was always hung up on the Weasel King," he says. "Even when he dumped her for Brown sixth year. Looks like he's found another replacement, doesn't it?"

I'm not going to talk about Ron and Hermione with him. "I'd better get back to the match," I say, turning abruptly. "Get in touch when you've something to report."

**Ron**

It's not until I'm safely back in my room that I let myself think about what I learned from Etilka Varga tonight. I could tell from her first sentence that she was the one who'd approached Harris, but the rest of it came as a revelation.

_"I've been thinking about it, yeah," I'd answered guardedly._

_"Vell?" Etilka demanded, her eyes burning into mine. "Are you vith us, Professor?"_

_I'd hesitated just long enough to make her think I was considering it. "It's a bit of a risk," I said._

_"Vat risk is there to you?" Etilka said haughtily. "You are nothing - nothing but a pawn. Ha - that is good, yes! The Chess Master is a pawn! If ve are discovered - vhich of course ve vill not be - no blame vill fall on you." She glared at me. "You vill of course be vell compensated."_

_I'd pretended to weaken. "What do you want me to do?" I asked._

_"For now, nothing," Etilka said, her eyes sweeping over me contemptuously. "You haf only to keep your mouth shut."_

_"All right," I said, waiting just long enough to make her nervous._

Etilka had swept away without another word. She hasn't even looked in my direction since, but it seems to me that Kirilov wasn't quite as standoffish at dinner tonight as he usually is. He was almost polite when he asked me to pass the salt.

I reckon all I can do now is wait for them to make a move. And when they do - Invisibility Cloak or no Invisibility Cloak - I'm going to find out exactly what they're up to. 

**Hermione**

The Patronus startles me into awareness. After a moment I recognize Harry's stag.

"Ginny and I are on our way over," it says in Harry's voice, sounding apologetic. "Hope it's all right."

_Whether it is or not, it's too late now,_ I think, looking around a bit wildly. Hastily I shove everything into the half-empty carton of books; then do a quick Locomotor Charm to send the entire thing into the bedroom. I don't know why I'm so determined to keep Harry from finding out what I've been working on. After all, it wouldn't make any difference if he saw, would it? Unless I'm right…

They're already knocking at the door. Ginny embraces me warmly. "I wish you'd come to the match, Hermione!" she says, pulling her cloak off carelessly and tossing it in the general direction of the sofa. "We nearly lost, but Jacintha managed to score right before our side caught the Snitch and that just put us over."

"Congratulations," I say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she is.

Harry catches my eye. "We knew you had to work and all," he says, still slightly diffident. "But we thought maybe you'd be finished by now. Have you had dinner yet?"

I can't face Diagon Alley on a Saturday night. "Why don't we have something here?" I offer, realizing too late that I haven't done any shopping.

"Because I want to celebrate," Ginny says firmly. "Go on, Hermione - we'll go someplace where no one knows us, if that's what you're worried about."

"And that would be where, exactly?" I say, looking at Harry.

He grins at me. "We could go to a Muggle restaurant," he offers. "I've got jeans on, but you'll have to lend Ginny something to wear instead of that cloak."

I don't really want to go out at all - I want to stay and see if I can find any more clues - but I can't think how else to get rid of them. "All right," I say, managing a smile. "Come on, Ginny."

I leave Ginny critically assessing herself in my limited wardrobe and return to the sitting room to find Harry flipping through my _Magical World Atlas_, which I've stupidly left out. "What did you need with this?" he asks, looking up.

"Research," I say, deliberately vague. Please don't let him notice that I've marked the sections on Eastern Europe. "Where shall we go? Have you got any Muggle money? I only have a few pounds."

Harry rummages distractedly through his money-bag, diverted. "I'm ready," Ginny says from the doorway. She looks better than I do in that black jumper - like she does in most clothes.

"Shall we go?" I say. I'm not going to bother doing anything to myself. No one's going to know who we are.

"Ron must love you," Ginny remarks, folding her cloak over her arm. "Ready at a moment's notice - unlike me." She catches herself, blushing. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean - "

"It's fine," I say quickly. "If Harry kept breathing down your neck and saying 'Aren't you ready yet? I'm about to starve to death!' every ten seconds, you'd learn to get ready quickly, too."

Harry laughs, and so does Ginny - a bit uncertainly. She changes the subject to Quidditch and prattles on about the match and her team-mates all through dinner, giving me a chance to reflect on what I've learned so far.

**Harry**

We've just left the restaurant when Gawain's Patronus finds me. (Fortunately it's a foggy night, as we're still in the Muggle part of London.) Gawain, as usual, is brief. The message is one word: "Report."

"Chatty, isn't he?" Ginny remarks. "Have you got to go in to the office?"

"Afraid so," I say. Krum must be back. "I'll take you both home first - unless you'd like to come back to Grimmauld Place, Hermione?"

"Oh, come back with me for a bit," Ginny says coaxingly. "I'll be bored all on my own."

"You're exhausted," Hermione contradicts. "You yawned three times during dinner. Anyway, I have work to do. Thanks for dinner!" She ducks into an alley and Disapparates before I can manage to get a single word out.

"I meant to ask her if she'd come and stay with us," Ginny says, staring at the place where Hermione was a second ago.

"She won't," I say. "I've asked. Anyway, she was right about one thing - you're tired."

"I can Apparate just fine on my own," Ginny says, but she doesn't argue when I take her hand and tuck it into the crook of my arm. There's something about a foggy night that makes me nervous - you never know who could be right behind you.

I see Ginny safely into the house and then turn on the spot. I haven't been more than a few minutes, but Gawain's tapping his fingers impatiently when I walk into his office. "Hello, Viktor," I say, before Gawain can open his mouth. "Any news?"

Krum's report doesn't take long. Gawain doesn't say a word while he's speaking, but I know him well enough by now to be able to tell what he's thinking. "Thank you," he says at last. "Harry, have you any questions for Mr. Krum?"

Yes, but none that he'll be able to answer. "Did Harris need anything from us?" I ask.

"He vould very much like an Invisibility Cloak, but he did not seem hopeful of obtaining one," Krum offers.

"I can't spare one," Gawain says at once. "Anything else?"

"Harris is vorried about the half-blood students," Krum says. "I do not myself think that they are in danger, but he seems to feel differently. I am to ask you, Harry," - he nods in my direction - "to help in finding a safe place vhere they could be transported in case of some calamity."

"Nonsense," Gawain says sharply. "If Harris is doing his job properly it won't come to that. Anything else?"

"Only that he vishes for news of England," Krum answers. "I very much regretted that I had not been in London myself for many veeks so I could tell him nothing, but I vas able to give him an English magazine. He vas most pleased vith it, although I myself thought it a bit unusual."

"Let me guess," I say. "Was it _The Quibbler_?"

Krum nods. "It is not a true magazine, surely?" he asks, looking puzzled. "I am thinking it is a joke."

"It's a little of both," I say evasively. I wish Krum would leave so I could talk to Gawain.

Gawain's evidently wishing the same thing. "Thank you, Mr. Krum," he says, getting to his feet. "We'll expect you next month, then?"

Krum looks surprised. "You haf no message for Harris?" he asks.

Gawain shakes his head. "Thank you," he says again.

"You might tell him that everyone in England is fine, and not to worry about it," I suggest. It's not very informative, but it's the best I can do.

"But - " Krum begins, obviously confused. He glances in Gawain's direction again and seems to realize it's no use. "I vill be going, then," he says with a shrug.

On the pretext of holding the door for him, I lean over and say in a low voice, "Tell him not to worry. About _anything_." Hopefully Krum - or Ron, anyway - will understand I mean the half-blood kids at Durmstrang. I haven't the slightest idea what to do about them, but maybe I'll think of something before Krum's next visit.

"Shut the door," Gawain says from behind me.

I comply, dropping into the chair across from him. "Etilka Whatsis is the one who approached Rodney Harris," I say.

"Varga," Gawain says. He has a knack for these foreign names - one I sadly don't possess. "Yes, I thought that would come to light rather quickly. As long as Weasley keeps his head, he should be able to pick up a great deal of information from her."

"What about the half-blood kids?" I ask. "Ron seems to think they're in danger."

"The purebloods are the ones they want," Gawain reminds me. "Oh, I don't suppose they'd hesitate at killing a half-blood if it got in their way, but they don't mean to destroy them. They only want to keep them back. Now, if Muggle-born students were attending Durmstrang - but that's never happened."

He pulls a piece of parchment toward him and starts scribbling on it. I wait for several seconds, but he doesn't seem to have anything else to say.

"What's next?" I ask after a minute.

Gawain looks up as if surprised to still find me there. "For the moment, nothing," he answers calmly. "We shall wait for Weasley's next report while continuing to monitor the situation here. Have you been able to learn anything more about Jeremy Gamp?"

Here we go. I take a deep breath. "Yes," I say. "But you may not approve of some of my methods."

As predicted, he doesn't.

**Hermione**

I Disapparate before Harry can stop me. I'm not ready to go home just yet. The information I want is at the Ministry, and I don't want to wait until tomorrow to find it. There won't be anyone there this late - it's the perfect time to go on a fact-finding mission.

Once inside, it doesn't take me long to gather the books I need. I'll finish my research at home, where there's no chance of anyone finding out what I'm doing. I shove everything hastily into my bag and head for the lift.

I'm startled to see someone already standing there. I'm about to back quietly around the corner and wait for the next one when the man lifts his head and I recognize him. "Viktor?" I say, startled into speech. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Viktor's face lights up at the sight of me. "Herm-own-ninny!" he exclaims, coming toward me with both hands outstretched. "It has been too long since I haf seen you!"

"But what are you doing here in the middle of the night?" I repeat, once the first greetings are over with.

"I haf some records from the Bulgarian National Team to pass on to your Department of Magical Games and Sports," Viktor says smoothly. "It is not necessary for anyone to be here to receive them, so I leave them on the desk of the secretary, do you see?"

"But you're on the wrong floor," I tell him, glancing at his empty hands. "Magical Games and Sports is on Level Seven."

"Already I haf been there,' Viktor explains. "I make a mistake and get off on the wrong floor. Now I must vait again for the lift."

It sounds a bit strange - but after all, it's _Viktor_. I know he wouldn't do anything wrong.

"But it is vorth a mistake to see you again, Herm-own-ninny," Viktor's saying. "You are going home now? Or you vould perhaps care to join me for a drink?"

Viktor went to Durmstrang under Karkarov. He can probably tell me everything I need to know. I smile at him. "A drink sounds lovely," I say. "Where shall we go?"

**Ron**

I thought things would pick up a bit after Etilka approached me, but it's nearly Halloween before anything happens. They celebrate the holiday at Durmstrang, but they don't have a Halloween feast like we did at Hogwarts. (I reckon even the Durmstrangers know their limitations.) Instead they have a Halloween party, and everyone - even the teachers - attends in fancy-dress.

"Professor, I am very excited about the Halloween party," Anya confides, leaning against my desk after class.

I can't help smiling at her. I know teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, but since I'm not really a teacher I reckon it doesn't matter that Anya's mine. I have to be careful, though - the rest of the school is alert to any sign of favoritism to the half-bloods. "What's your costume going to be?" I ask.

"I cannot tell you!" Anya protests. "It must be a surprise, do you see? Although Bogdana says everyone vill know it is me because I am too small to be in this school at all."

Bogdana's a poisonous little brat - and she's the very reverse of small. She reminds me of Millicent Bulstrode with an Engorging Charm cast on her. "You're not too small," I say, even though she's definitely the tiniest of the first-years. "Size doesn't have anything to do with how talented you are. Aren't you my best student?"

"Yours, perhaps, but I am not so good in Potions and Concoctions," Anya confesses. "I am liking Professor Balog very much, but I am finding it hard to put all of these things in the right order and once I blow up my cauldron."

"I was never very good at Potions, either," I tell her. "I never blew up a cauldron, but likely that's only because H - one of my best friends was really clever, and she used to help me when the teacher wasn't looking."

"I am vishing I haf a friend like that," Anya says enviously. "Ve half-bloods haf only each other, and I am the only vun in my class."

This is so true that I don't know what to say. "You'd better hurry," I say instead. "You don't want to be late for Professor Kirilov." _He'll likely put a curse on you._

"I haf no class this hour," Anya says.

"Don't you?" I ask, surprised. "I thought first-years went to Dark Arts directly from Chess."

"Ve are not allowed to study the Dark Arts," Anya answers. "It is only for purebloods."

I stare at her. Quidditch is one thing, but Dark Arts is actually part of the regular curriculum. "Are there any other classes you aren't allowed to take?" I ask, managing to keep my voice under control.

Anya shakes her head. "And I am not minding," she assures me. "Professor Kirilov looks at us in a vay that is not so very friendly."

I'll bet. "We never studied it at Hogwarts, either," I say, hoping to make her feel better. "We had Defense against the Dark Arts, but it's not exactly the same."

"But this is vhat ve are needing!" Anya exclaims, looking delighted. "You vill teach it to us, please, Professor?"

What? "I can't," I say at once, but part of me's thinking "why the hell not?"

"This Defense, it vould teach us to stop Grigor and the others from putting curses on us?" Anya asks.

"I - yeah," I admit.

"Then it is vhat ve need," Anya says pleadingly. "Please, Professor Harris?" She looks up at me with big blue eyes and I feel myself weakening.

"Look here, Anya," I start. "If I were to teach you Defense - and that's _if_, mind! - we'd have to keep it a secret just between us. Do you understand?"

Anya nods. "I vould not be vishing for you to be dismissed," she says solemnly. "You are my favorite teacher."

It's not so much my job I'm worried about, but I don't think I'd better get into it with her. "Let me think about it," I say. "We'll have to find a safe time and place to practice. I don't want any of us getting in trouble. And I don't think you'd better mention it to any of the others just yet."

Anya nods again, this time eagerly. "I vill not say a vord," she promises. "Professor?" She looks up at me appealingly.

I wait for it.

"Vould you perhaps be teaching me just vun small Defense Charm?" Anya asks. "Just a very small vun?"

She's a quick study. It doesn't take any time at all before she's mastered a Shield Charm. "That's really good," I tell her. "I couldn't do that one when I was a first-year."

"That I am not believing," Anya says firmly. "You vere the best student in your class, I know."

Now do you see why she's my favorite?

**Harry**

"But I don't want to take Pansy to the Black Pearl tonight," Malfoy protests. "I want to go see Astoria. She'll be all alone tonight if Daphne's going out - their parents are in the country this weekend."

He's just got through telling me that Pansy Parkinson's been dropping rather strong hints that she'd like him to accompany her to dinner with Daphne and Jeremy Gamp at the Black Pearl tonight. He was stunned - and annoyed - when I suggested that he might want to take her up on the invitation.

"If you think it's such a great idea, you can bloody well take Pansy," Malfoy says stubbornly, and I can tell he's not changing his mind.

I glare at him, irritated - and then I realize what he's just said. "All right," I say, leaning over and tweaking a few blonde hairs from his head. "I will."

**Ron**

I can tell something's wrong as soon as the first-years come in. Anya's eyes are red and swollen like she's been crying. She sits down, refusing to meet my eyes.

The others ignore her. "Professor, ve are playing on the big board again today?" a boy says eagerly.

"Not today," I say, still watching Anya. "I think today we'd better go over some of the things we've learned. "Who can tell me which color goes first?"

Anya's hand would normally have been the first one up - really, she's quite a lot like Hermione in some ways - but she remains silent, looking down at her folded hands.

The kids look relieved when the bell rings - I guess it wasn't the most exciting class. "Anya, stay here for a moment, will you?" I say after I've dismissed the others.

"Anya is in trouble!" Boris says tauntingly.

"Off you go, Boris," I snap.

Boris goes, but he glances slyly over his shoulder at Anya as he goes. "Anya Petrov," he says, looking disgusted. "Vat kind of name is that for a girl?"

I star after him, confused. There are at least four Anyas in the school - as near as I can make out, it's one of the most common names for girls around here. Maybe he couldn't come up with a decent insult fast enough.

"You vanted to see me, Professor?" Anya says, giving a loud sniff.

"I want to know what's wrong," I tell her.

Anya's face crumples. "Oh, Professor, they are not letting us go to the Halloween party," she sobs.

"What?" I demand indignantly. Baranov's gone too far this time. "Not because you're half-bloods, surely? They can't do that!"

Anya swipes at her face with the back of her hand. "They are not _saying_ it is because ve are half-bloods," she says. "I am forbidden because Professor Kirilov catch me outside of my dormitory after hours. Kristov is forbidden because his homevork in Ancient Runes vas not so very good. Natalia vas five minutes late to her Astronomy lesson. Nikolas - "

"Hang on," I say. "Nikolas? Isn't he a pureblood?"

Anya nods. "He is Natalia's - how do you say - friend boy," she explains.

"Boyfriend," I correct. That explains Grigor's reluctance to play chess with him. "I get the idea. Well, I'm awfully sorry, Anya. It doesn't seem fair."

"Many things at this school are not," Anya says philosophically. "Kristov is saying ve should haf our own party, but vat vould ve do?"

I know I should use caution here, but I can't seem to stop myself. "You might use my classroom," I tell her. "I could order some food for you." (And for myself, while I'm at it - proper English food. I don't know why I didn't think of it before.) "You could even come in fancy dress, if you like. Only we'd have to keep it a secret."

Anya's face lights up. "It vill be even better than the real party, because no vun vill be saying rude things to us!" she exclaims happily. "Oh, Professor Harris, you are my most favorite teacher!"

"Not a word," I warn her hastily. "I could get into a lot of trouble for this."

"Not a vord," Anya says solemnly. "I promise." She starts to leave, but I call her back.

"What were you doing out of your dormitory after hours, anyway?" I ask.

Anya looks indignant. "I am not doing anything bad!" she protests. "I am only trying to find out vhy those so very loud peoples are talking outside of my vindow. I look out, but I cannot see anyvun, so I think I will go and peek out of the front door. Only Professor Kirilov is saying I am trying to sneak out, and he is not believing me vhen I tell him I hear voices. He say I am dreaming, but how can I be dreaming vhen I am not yet sleeping?"

The student dormitories are on the opposite side of the castle from mine, facing the woods. "Did it sound like kids?" I ask.

Anya shakes her head. "No, it vas men's voices," she says firmly. "And maybe a voman, also."

She's looking at me expectantly, like I'm going to be able to solve the mystery for her. "Maybe it was some of the teachers," I say lamely. "Anya, if you hear the voices again, don't try to go outside, all right? Come and tell me, and I'll investigate."

Anya nods. "Professor Kirilov vould not be daring to tell you that it vas only a dream!" she says, satisfied.

I'm not so sure. Seems to me Kirilov would be willing to say just about anything to keep people from finding out that there was almost certainly a delegation from the Brotherhood of Blood on Durmstrang's grounds last night.

**Harry**

Once he got over the shock, Malfoy was only too pleased to let me take his place with Pansy. "Mind you don't embarrass me," he warns, looking me over critically. "What are you planning to wear?"

"Wear?" I look at him and shrug. "I dunno - dress robes, I suppose."

Malfoy's eyes narrow. "Good ones?" he demands. "Where did you buy them? What color are they?"

"Who cares?" I say impatiently.

"Much as I hate the thought, I think it would be better if I provided you with a set of my own robes," Malfoy says decisively. "It wouldn't do for a Malfoy to be seen in anything second-rate."

I swallow the insult. I still haven't told him that he's going to have to spend the evening hiding, instead of cozied up with Astoria. "Fine," I say. "Go get your damned robes and meet me - " I pause, thinking. "Do you think you could find that forest again on your own?"

"The Muggle one?" Malfoy says, looking slightly disgusted. "I suppose so. Although how you think you can get ready for an evening out in the middle of a forest is beyond me."

He looks even more annoyed when he arrives in the Forest of Dean ten minutes later. "Try not to get dirt or anything on these," he warns, pulling a set of silver-grey robes from a small traveling bag. "Oh, and this is the cologne I use - and mind you style my hair properly. I don't want to go around looking like you."

He watches while I down the Polyjuice (pale green with a bitter aftertaste) and hastily change into the robes. "Smooth my - your - hair in the front," he directs, walking around me in a circle. "Fix your collar - and mind you hold the hem up till you're out of the woods."

What a prat. "My wife doesn't spend this long getting ready," I tell him. "Well? Do I pass inspection?"

"You'll do," Malfoy says grudgingly. "I suppose you know which fork to use and all that?"

I toy with the idea of deliberately spilling an entire plate of food down my front, just to embarrass him. "Yes," I say tightly. "Right, well I don't expect I'll be more than a couple of hours. You'd better wait for me here. I've done Muggle-Repelling Charms, so you should be quite safe."

"I'm not waiting here," Malfoy says indignantly. "I'm going to see Astoria."

"You're not," I say. "What do you think she'd say when Daphne comes home and says she had dinner with you?"

Malfoy's jaw drops. "But - " he splutters.

"See you in a couple of hours," I say quickly. "Hope you brought something to read!" Before he can frame an answer, I turn and Disapparate.

**Hermione**

"What are you working on?" Basil asks, perching on the edge of my desk.

"Nothing," I say, hastily pulling a few interdepartmental memos over _A Wizarding History of Eastern Europe_. Not that it would matter if he saw it, of course - but Basil's clever, and he can be awfully nosy.

Basil leans closer. "I hear you were out with Viktor Krum a few nights ago," he whispers.

I eye him coolly. "Viktor's a very old friend," I say calmly. "We happened to run into each other, so we had a drink. End of story."

Basil looks skeptical.

"How do you know about that, anyway?" I demand. We purposely went to a Muggle pub so Rita's spies wouldn't spot us.

"I have my sources," Basil says mysteriously.

I can tell he's dying for me to ask, so I don't. Instead, I pick up a quill and look pointedly at him.

"I don't blame you a bit for wanting to move on," Basil says, ignoring my strong hint. "But really, Hermione - Viktor Krum? He's an _athlete_."

"He's a world-famous Quidditch champion," I correct. Don't tell me Basil's going to stick up for Ron now?

He isn't, of course. "You do seem to go for the brawny types," he remarks. "I should think that a woman with your intelligence would want someone a bit more - well - "

"Ron's very intelligent!" I say defensively.

Basil raises an eyebrow.

"And so is Viktor," I add quickly. "Don't you have work to do, Basil?"

"I'll leave you in peace," Basil says. "As soon as you tell me why you're reading this." Before I can stop him, he's neatly extracted _A Wizarding History of Eastern Europe_ from underneath the memos.

I think fast. "Several of the early pureblood laws may have originated in eastern Europe," I say, making it up as I go.

Basil, to my surprise, nods. "They're still behind us as far as that sort of thing goes," he remarks. "Durmstrang, for instance, only accepts pureblood students."

_Not anymore, they don't,_ I think. Viktor told me that last night. That's what made me certain it had something to do with Ron's secret mission. The Ministry probably felt that someone ought to be there to watch over the half-blood students. Only why isn't someone in the Bulgarian Ministry doing it? And why is it such a deadly secret?

**Harry**

"How nice that you could join us, Draco," Daphne says, not appearing to mean it. "Astoria _will_ be disappointed. I think she has a bit of a crush on you." She laughs delicately. It couldn't be clearer that she thinks Astoria's out of her mind.

_Still a cow, aren't you, Daphne?_ I think. "Maybe you ought to warn her off me," I say lightly. "I'm not a very nice person."

Pansy looks annoyed by the mention of Astoria. "Tracy Davis's Halloween party is coming up," she says loudly. "You and Jeremy are going, aren't you, Daphne?"

Gamp opens his mouth, but Daphne's already nodding. "We might all go together," she suggests, having obviously been primed by Pansy. "Wouldn't that be fun, Draco?"

_No,_ I think. I'm torn between agreeing in order to get Malfoy back for his comment about the forks - or putting her off due to a slight twinge of sympathy for him. While I'm hesitating, Gamp speaks.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to make it," he says, not sounding terribly apologetic.

"Oh, Jeremy, why?" Daphne pouts.

"I'll be out of town," Gamp says, without offering any further explanation.

Daphne's apparently used to this - or she's going to take it up with him later - for she merely scowls and sips her wine. Pansy, however, is not so easily dissuaded.

"Where are you going?" she demands. "And why do you have to go on Halloween? It's not fair to Daphne - she's been looking forward to this party for weeks!"

"There's no reason Daphne can't go without me," Gamp says, neatly evading the first part of the question. "I'm sure Draco would be delighted to escort both of you."

Both pairs of eyes turn toward me. _Sorry, Malfoy,_ I think. "Of course I would," I say. Only it's not going to be me taking them. Jeremy Gamp's plans, whatever they might be, sound considerably more interesting.

**Ron**

I have to make an appearance at the regular party, of course, but I plan to make it short. I've already prepared the way by mentioning rather loudly to Dorika that I felt as though I had a cold coming on.

"You are not used to our climate," Dorika said sympathetically. "Vhen your fur cloak arrives you vill be much varmer."

I finally took Krum's advice and ordered a fur-lined cloak from a catalog Dorika offered me. I also ordered a supply of what I sincerely hope is candy from the same catalog - it was a bit hard to tell, since it wasn't in English. If it doesn't come today, I won't have any sweets to offer the half-blood kids tonight.

Much to my relief, four owls arrive bearing a large package between them just as I'm about to leave the breakfast table. "Ah, there is your cloak at last!" Dorika beams. "Now you vill be a proper Durmstranger."

_Take more than a cloak for that,_ I think, taking the package from the owls. Bloody hell, it's heavy - no wonder it took four of them. "Better put this away before class," I say not wanting to open the package before the others.

Once I'm safely behind a locked door, I tear it open. The cloak looks all right, although I can't help wondering if I'll be able to move once I've got it on. This box must be the sweets. There isn't time to open it now, so I shove the box in a desk drawer and unfold my new cloak. I try it on in front of the mirror, staggering slightly under the unaccustomed weight. Harris doesn't exactly need the extra padding, but it ought to keep me warm.

Anya gives me a demure smile as she takes her seat. I have to give her credit - either she's done an extremely good job of warning the other half-bloods, or she hasn't told them anything about the party yet, because none of them have displayed any signs of knowing what's going on. In fact, most of them look exactly like you'd expect kids who were missing a party to look - miserable.

The second-to-last period of the day is a free one for me, and I take the opportunity to put on my new cloak and slip outside. True to form, Baranov appears from nowhere just as I'm opening the front door.

"You are going out, Professor?" he asks.

_No, I just thought I'd open the door for the hell of it,_ I think, but I manage to answer calmly. "Just thought I'd get a bit of fresh air," I say.

"I vill join you," Baronov says at once.

"I'd be pleased to have your company," I say, even though I bloody well wouldn't. There's no getting rid of this lot, is there?

Baranov falls into place beside me as I turn to the left outside the front door. "And vhere does your valk take you, Professor?" he asks, looking suddenly concerned.

I wonder if there's something he doesn't want me to see? "Just a quick stroll round the castle," I say, glancing at him sideways. It's not my imagination; he definitely looks relieved by my answer.

"That is good," Baranov says. "Ve vould not vant to lose our Chess Master, Professor Harris."

"Hard to get lost around here, isn't it?" I ask, deliberately casual. Bloody hell, was that supposed to be some sort of threat?

"You vould be surprised," Baranov says lightly. "There are many stories of those who haf been lost in the forest, never to be heard from again. The vater in the lake is so cold that it paralyzes many svimmers vithin seconds. And the cliff, of course, is treacherous vhen the ground is icy."

I glance back over my shoulder at the sheer drop. "Is it always foggy down there?" I ask, nodding at the valley.

"Is not fog," Baranov says. "It is dementors."

I stare at him, unable to keep my jaw from dropping. I reckon it's all right, though - he'd expect Harris to be shocked. "Is that safe?" I ask. "With the kids around - "

Baranov laughs. "My dear Professor, the bottom of that valley is much farther avay than it looks," he says. "It vould take even the most surefooted climber several days to reach the ground - if he made it. Ve are not troubled by the dementors, nor do ve choose to trouble them."

"I take it back," I say, carefully matching his tone. "It's quite dangerous here after all. I'm lucky you've come along to protect me."

"If you stay vithin the grounds, you vill haf no trouble," Baranov says, and the underlying threatening note is back in his voice. "Venture outside and I cannot answer for the consequences."

We've made it around to the back of the castle by now, and I glance involuntarily up at the windows. I'm not sure which room is Anya's, although I know that the youngest students are on the top floors. In any case, there's no way to tell who or what may have been here a few nights ago. The ground is frozen too hard for footprints, and I can't exactly check out the nearby forest with bloody Baranov breathing down my neck.

"You are looking forward to our Halloween party, Professor?" Baranov asks, continuing on without a look at the castle.

"Very much," I lie.

"I, too," Baranov confides. "The house-elves haf been hard at vork preparing the food."

I'll bet. I think fleetingly of the "food" that was served at Nearly-Headless Nick's Deathday party during the Halloween of my second year and have to turn a sudden spurt of laughter into a cough.

"You are ill?" Baranov asks, frowning.

"Just a bit of a cold coming on," I say, seizing the chance to plant my alibi with someone else. "I'll be all right."

"You must see Madame Irina for a potion," Baranov counsels. "It vould be too bad to miss the party."

Madame Irina scares the hell out of me, even though she's even smaller than Ginny. I only met her once, and I swear she almost put a curse on me. I wouldn't go to her unless I was dying. Luckily we're rounding the front of the castle now, and Baranov quickens his pace without waiting for me to answer.

"I am afraid I must be leaving you here, Professor," he says regretfully. "Enjoy the rest of your valk."

I glance hopefully at my watch, but - as Baranov must have realized - I haven't got time to do anything but hurry to my next class. "I've enjoyed your company," I lie.

Baranov gives me a wave over his shoulder. "I vill see you at the party, Professor," he says. "Perhaps you vill be the one to see beyond my disguise!"

What? Oh yeah - we've got to go in fancy dress. Kirilov's probably going as Voldemort. And I suppose I've got to come up with something myself. Wish I could go as Ron Weasley - that'd fool everybody, wouldn't it?

I still haven't thought of anything by the time my last class finishes. I'm about to go and rummage through my trunks when Anya appears in the doorway.

"I am just vondering, Professor," she whispers. "Is all right still?"

_"Muffliato,"_ I say. "It's all right, Anya - you can talk now."

"I vould like to be learning _that_ vun!" Anya says longingly. "Professor, I haf not yet said anything to the others, but I come now to ask you."

"Yeah, it's definitely still on," I reassure her. "I'll have to show myself at the regular party for a bit, but I reckon it'd be all right for you lot to come by at around half-past eight. Only don't all come at once - it'll be too noticeable. And you'd better have a couple of people act as lookouts so you don't get caught."

Anya's eyes sparkle. "It vill be most exciting!" she says. "Of course ve vill not vear costumes, in case ve are seen, but it vill be fun anyvay."

"I hope so," I say honestly. I hadn't really given much thought to what I was actually going to do with all the kids, besides feed them some questionable candy. "What do you usually do at parties, anyway?"

"I know, Professor!" Anya offers. "You could be teaching us more spells, could you not? So that ve can defend ourselves."

It's not a bad idea. "Well," I say weakly.

Anya nods. "It vill be much better than a stupid party," she says firmly. "Because ve vill be learning something, do you see?"

She really is a lot like Hermione, isn't she? "You like school, don't you, Anya?" I ask.

She nods again. "Professor, vill you please tell me vat your costume is to be?" she asks.

"Maybe you can tell me," I say. "I haven't any idea what to do."

"Is easy," Anya says confidently. "You can be Muggle ghost."

I stare at her. "What do you mean, a Muggle ghost?" I ask. "Aren't their ghosts the same as ours?"

Anya shakes her head. "My mother is Muggle-born, so I am knowing," she explains. "Muggles are thinking that all ghosts are just a vhite shape, do you see? So you can be putting a vhite sheet over your head and you are ready for party. Many times my mother does this vhen she is very small girl."

Well, that sounds easy enough. "How am I supposed to see anything?" I ask, resolving privately to ask Hermione about this Muggle ghost thing the first chance I get.

"You must cut holes for your eyes," Anya remembers. "And also to breathe, I am thinking."

"Yeah, breathing's always good," I say. "Thanks, Anya."

"Is nothing," Anya says, but she looks pleased.

**Ron**

I've been at the party for nearly an hour - it's probably all right if I leave now. Anyway, there are at least three other people dressed as Muggle ghosts. I carefully dropped several hints at dinner tonight, and it looks like several of the teachers liked the idea - or couldn't think of anything else, more likely. It'll make skiving off early considerably easier.

I turn sharply to avoid Baranov, draped from head to foot in white fur robes. I think he's supposed to be a polar bear, but I didn't like to ask in case I was wrong. I made a point of speaking to him when I arrived, just so he'd know I was there, but once was enough for me. I didn't bother to talk to Kirilov (he didn't quite dare come as Voldemort, but he's come damned close in black robes with a live serpent wound about his arm), but I did have a chat with Dorika - dressed as Babbity Rabbity - by the punch bowl. That's enough, I reckon. If anyone asks, I was definitely at the party.

I edge my way closer to the exit. No one's looking at me… slowly now….

Anya and Kristov are already waiting outside the empty Chess classroom. I hurry toward them, pulling off the sheet as I go. "Hurry up!" I whisper, ushering them in.

"Ve are early," Anya says apologetically. "But I am thinking perhaps you vill need some help, Professor?" She looks around hopefully.

I unlock my desk drawer and hand her the package of sweets. "Hope I got the right things," I say, looking over Anya's shoulder as she tears into it. It doesn't look like any candy I ever saw, but both Anya and Kristov look pleased.

"They are my favorites, these!" Kristov says happily. He offers me a piece of what looks suspiciously like crystallized borscht.

"Er, better not," I say hastily. "I managed to get in some butterbeer, as well - have you ever had it before?"

Both kids shake their heads, but they seem to like the taste. I got the butterbeer from an ad in the back of _The Quibbler_. I got some odd looks at the staff table when the package arrived - the bottles kept clanking together - but I said it was hair tonic from the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. (Kirilov had to turn away to hide his smirk.)

More of the half-blood kids are arriving. I know most of them from my classes, but there are a few older ones that don't take Chess. "Anyone keeping watch?" I ask.

"Petur and Juliska," Nikolas assures me. "In vun hour I go to replace them vith Natalia."

I'm not sure that's such a good idea, based on the way Nikolas and Natalia are looking at each other. They'll likely be so busy snogging they wouldn't notice if half the castle trooped up behind them. "You'd better take someone else with you," I say.

Anya's tugging at my sleeve. "Professor, ve can do some learning now?" she asks in a stage whisper.

Kristov looks disgusted. "Ve are learning all day, Anya!" he protests. "This is a party."

"Ve are not learning how to defend ourselves in this school," Anya retorts.

There's a sudden silence as everyone turns to look at us. "Professor Harris vould not be teaching us _that_?" Natalia says, like I'm not standing right in front of her.

Anya beams at her. "Already I am learning a Charm called a Shield Charm," she says proudly.

Kristov looks from her to me. "Is true?" he asks slowly.

I nod.

"You vill teach all of us?" Kristov persists.

I nod again. "Only it must be a secret," Anya says. "All of us, ve must svear never to tell!"

There's no difficulty in getting the half-bloods to promise. They're sick of being bullied by Grigor and his lot. "Right," I say, when I've got their attention. "Let's go over the Shield Charm first - that's the one I taught Anya - and then if we've got time we'll work on disarming an enemy." Harry'd be pleased - he's always been fond of good old Expelliarmus. Or maybe he wouldn't be, at that. Forming the Durmstrang version of Dumbledore's Army isn't exactly the reason I've been sent here. Still, these kids need some way to defend themselves and I know Harry would agree with me - Hermione, too. Now, Gawain, on the other hand…

Shoving the thought of my boss to the back of my mind, I beckon Anya to the front of the room. "We'll just do a demonstration first, so you can see," I say. "Now, Anya, try to jinx me!"

**Hermione**

"But Hermione, it's Halloween!" Ginny protests. "You can't just sit at home - again."

I should have suspected something like this when I got her owl. The message said that it was "urgent" that I meet her at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at noon. "Why can't I?" I ask, ignoring the "again". It's no one's business but my own if I don't feel like going out.

"Because it's _Halloween_," Ginny repeats helplessly. "Anyway, Harry's got to work and I don't want to go to this party on my own. Won't you just come for an hour?"

I know perfectly well that Ginny's not afraid to go anywhere on her own - least of all to a party. "I'm not in the mood," I say, honestly enough. "And if that's all you needed, I've got to get back to work."

"Hermione," Ginny starts, but George speaks up unexpectedly.

"Let her alone," he says. "If she doesn't feel like going out, she doesn't feel like going out. Angelina and I will go with you."

Ginny shoots him a furious look, which George ignores. "It's not dressy, is it?" Angelina asks Ginny hastily. "We won't have much time to change after the shop closes."

I catch George's eye. "Thanks," I mouth.

"Come have a look at these," George says to me, drawing me off into a corner.

I glance around, puzzled. "The Pygmy Puffs?" I ask. "What about them?"

"Never mind the bloody Pygmy Puffs," George says abruptly. "Hermione, do you know where Ron is?"

I look nervously over my shoulder, but Ginny and Angelina are still intent on their conversation. I shake my head mutely.

"Didn't think so," George says. "It's some sort of Auror mission, isn't it?"

"I - George, please be quiet!" I whisper frantically.

"I knew it," George says, looking pleased with himself. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. I'm not going to say anything. I reckoned it had to be something like that. I mean, no one with half a brain would actually believe you two split up."

I realize my mouth is hanging open and close it abruptly. George grins at me, suddenly looking very much like Ron. "Are you in on it?" he asks.

I shake my head again. "I don't know anything," I admit in a whisper.

"Shouldn't be all that hard to figure out," George says musingly. "If we put our heads together…"

Just for a split second, I'm tempted. George is clever, even if he only got three OWLs. He knows all sorts of things that aren't in books. Then I catch myself.

"We can't," I whisper frantically. "It could put him in danger."

George sighs. "I was afraid you were going to say that," he says. "Oh, don't look so worried, Hermione! I told you, I'd never say anything. All the same, if you need anything, you come to me, all right?"

"All right," I say. "George? Thanks."

George looks embarrassed. "Never mind all that," he mutters. "Sure you won't change your mind about the party?"

"Definitely not," I say firmly.

"Hermione?" Angelina calls from across the room. "Sure you won't change your mind?"

George and I look at each other and laugh.

"It'll just be Quidditch people," Ginny says persuasively, crossing the room to give me a hopeful look. "The Bulgarian National Team's in town, and the Harpies are entertaining them. No one's going to ask you about R - er, personal things. They'll all be talking about Quidditch."

"So I'll just be bored, you mean," I say, but actually I have a feeling I'll be anything but. The Bulgarians will all be Durmstrang graduates. There are lots of things I couldn't ask Viktor without making him suspicious, but this lot won't have any idea who I am.

"All right," I say to their three astonished faces. "I'll come."

**Harry**

With the Invisibility Cloak covering me from head to foot, I follow Jeremy Gamp as he leaves Daphne's house and pauses halfway across the lawn. He's getting ready to Disapparate. Normally I'd be stuck at this point, but Gawain pulled some strings and managed to get a trace authorized.

"I am now committed to dining with Madam Edgecombe next Saturday evening," he'd told me without a glimmer of a smile. "For your sake, Harry, you'd best hope this adventure is worth the misery I shall be forced to endure."

If it was anyone else, I'd have teased him a bit about Edgecombe fancying him, but somehow with Gawain you don't dare. "I'll make sure it is," I'd said instead.

Now I wait, watching as Jeremy turns and disappears. Seconds later, a piece of parchment flutters to the ground in the exact spot where he was standing. _"Accio,"_ I whisper.

I'd expected to see an address, or at least the name of a house, but the parchment contains only numbers. Maybe they're map coordinates or something. I shrug to myself. Repeating the numbers in a whisper, I turn slowly on the spot.

Well, I've certainly gone _somewhere_. I glance to my left. I haven't any idea where we are, but Gamp's right next to me, so that's all that matters. I nearly gasp aloud as the cold air bites through the Cloak. Wherever this is, it's freezing. Gamp's shivering, but he makes no move to go anywhere. He turns abruptly, and for a second I'm afraid I've been discovered, but then I hear him speaking to someone.

"Bloody get on with it," he says crossly. "I'm sure I've got frostbite."

"You are alone?" a man's voice says.

"Who'd be likely to follow me _here_?" Gamp snaps. "Let's go. And I hope we're meeting inside this time."

"Ve must be careful," the man says. He's got an accent like Krum's. He comes toward us as he speaks, but I can't make out anything in the darkness except a cloaked shape.

"There's such a thing as being too bloody careful," Gamp says. "There are plenty of rooms in the castle where we wouldn't be discovered. And even if we were, who cares?"

The castle? What castle? Durmstrang?

"It is not yet the time to come out into the open," the other man says. "But you vill be pleased to hear that ve are in fact going inside the castle - although it is varm enough outdoors."

Gamp mutters something that mirrors my own thoughts about the weather.

"You have grown soft since you have been avay," the other man says scornfully. He pulls something white from under his cloak and tosses it in Gamp's direction. "You vill please put this on."

Gamp unfolds what looks like an ordinary white sheet. "Why?" he asks, looking blank.

"Ve are tonight holding a fancy-dress party," the other man explains. "Several of our staff are vearing these. It is a Muggle ghost costume, do you see?"

"No," Gamp says frankly. He looks down at the sheet. "I always knew Muggles were stupid, but this is ridiculous."

The staff? It's got to be Durmstrang. _I'm at Durmstrang…_

"Put it on," the other man says, ending the argument. "Ve must not be late."

Gamp drapes the sheet over his head, adjusting it till he finds the eyeholes. "You really do have some extraordinary ideas, Fyodor," he remarks. "Can we go now?"

I panic for a minute, expecting to see them Disapparate, but we're evidently walking. Fyodor… I think that's the first name of the Dark Arts professor, but I can't quite remember. I wonder where Ron is, and if I can possibly manage to communicate with him in the mirror without giving myself away.

**Ron**

The half-blood kids have all mastered Shield Charms, and I've got them working on Expelliarmus when Juliska - a third-year who's a terrible chess player, but quite nice all the same - bursts into the room. I don't understand a word she's saying, but the kids all look worried and several of them start edging toward the door.

"Hang on," I say quickly. "Juliska, could we have that again - in English?"

"I am sorry, Professor," Juliska says. Her usual wide smile is missing as she looks up at me anxiously. "I am telling the others that Professor Kirilov is leaving the party and ve are not knowing vhy!"

Bloody Kirilov - why couldn't he stay put for another hour? I'd just got this lot started nicely. "All right," I say. "Where's Petur?"

"He is vatching to make sure Professor Kirilov is not coming this vay," Juliska explains.

I wait, but she's evidently finished. "What's Petur going to do if Kir - er, Professor Kirilov does come this way?" I ask, helping her along.

Juliska looks slightly embarrassed. "This ve are not yet deciding," she admits.

They really are new to all this Defense stuff, aren't they? Still, it's probably my fault - I should've checked to see what their plans were. "All right," I say. "I'll go first, and - "

Petur appears in the doorway, out of breath. "Is all right!" he announces. "He is going outdoors!"

The kids sigh with relief, but I'm frozen in place. _Outdoors?_

"Right," I say quickly. "You lot had better get back to your dormitories before he comes back in."

They don't take much persuading - they're all scared of Kirilov. "Take the rest of the candy with you," I add.

Anya's eyes widen. "You are sure?" she asks, her hand hovering longingly over the crystallized borscht. "You are not wanting some for yourself?"

"I've never been more sure of anything," I tell her. "Hurry up, Anya - you don't want to be caught out of your dormitory again!"

Anya looks at me thoughtfully. She seems on the point of saying something, when Kristov grabs her by the hand. "Ve must hurry," he says urgently. "Thank you for the party, Professor!"

I make them leave in groups of two and three, patrolling the corridors myself until I'm sure they're all safely back in their rooms. Then I go back to my quarters and have another quick swig of Polyjuice before pulling on my heavy fur cloak, topping it off with the ghost costume at the last minute. The cloak's so bulky I look like the ghost of Hagrid, but never mind. If Kirilov's meeting his friends outside the castle again tonight, I have every intention of joining them.

**Hermione**

"You must be very clever, to be vorking for your Ministry," the Bulgarian Chaser says, refilling his wine glass for the third time. "You did vell in school, yes?"

"Yes," I say, glossing over the fact that I spent my seventh year on the run from the Death Eaters. "I expect you did, too. Did you go to Durmstrang?"

The Chaser - he's called Anatole - tilts the bottle over my half-empty glass, but I shake my head. "Durmstrang, yes," he confirms, refilling his own glass instead.

Goodness, he drinks a lot. Still, it ought to make him talk more so it's all to the good. "Did you come to Hogwarts for the TriWizard Tournament?" I ask. He looks like he's only a few years older than I am.

"I am not so good at lessons as I am at Qvidditch," Anatole confesses. "Professor Karkarov say it is vaste of time to bring me, so I stay at Durmstrang. Only ve are not minding being left behind, do you see, because ve are not missing our Headmaster at all."

"You weren't fond of Karkarov, then?" I ask unnecessarily.

Anatole scowls. "This is vhat I think of Karkarov!" he says darkly, smashing his glass onto the hearth. The room's so noisy that no one even notices the sound of breaking glass.

Oh dear. Well, I expect he's had more than enough to drink. "Who became your Headmaster after Karkarov - er - left?" I ask.

"Professor Baranov, who vas our teacher of Dark Arts," Anatole says. He picks up the wine bottle again, looking momentarily surprised to realize he hasn't got a glass anymore. Shrugging, he tilts the bottle toward his mouth.

Dark Arts… that can't exactly have been an improvement. "This Baranov, is he still the Headmaster there?" I ask, in a hurry to get my questions out while Anatole's still coherent.

Anatole nods. "Sometimes ve are visiting to see the Qvidditch matches, but this year there has not been time," he says. "Only Viktor - you know Viktor, our Seeker, yes? - is going because he is the referee."

_Viktor_ is? Funny he didn't mention it. Or maybe it's not so funny - not if he's mixed up in whatever Ron's doing. I hesitate, wondering how to phrase my next question. "I had heard," I say carefully, "that Durmstrang is allowing half-blood students to attend now."

"I also am hearing this," Anatole says, frowning. "Is not good." He catches sight of my expression and adds, "I am not minding myself - is that it is perhaps not so safe for them there."

"Will the other students give them a hard time?" I ask.

"The students?" Anatole says. "Yes, them, too."

Too? "The teachers?" I say incredulously. "But surely - "

Anatole shrugs. "Ve are not so broad-minded at Durmstrang as you are at Hogvarts," he says. He lowers his voice. "Even now, there are those who vish that the Dark Lord had not been defeated." He takes another swig from his bottle and nods at me emphatically.

"We have a few of those here, too," I say, still carefully.

Anatole sends the now-empty bottle smashing onto the hearth to join his glass. "They are _nothing_ compared to vhat you vould find in my country!" he tells me, eyes burning. "Even vithin the valls of Durmstrang, there are those who - but I say too much."

He's looking past me now. I turn to see two of his team-mates coming toward us. "You are drunk already, Anatole!" one says chidingly. "It is not yet even ten o'clock!" He turns to me. "I hope he is not boring you."

"You must not take Anatole seriously," the other one says. "He does not know vhat he is talking about, do you, Anatole?"

Anatole sways in front of me. "I am talking too much," he says apologetically.

"I am thinking you need the fresh air," the first team-mate says firmly. "You vill excuse us, Miss?" Without waiting for an answer, he and his friend grip Anatole's arms on either side and lead him from the room.

I remain where I am, thinking. Despite his heavy consumption, Anatole hadn't seemed terribly drunk to me until his friends showed up. Were they really that concerned about him - or were they just trying to shut him up?

**Harry**

I keep well behind Gamp and his friend Fyodor so they won't hear me. They've stopped talking and there's not another sound except for the steady crunching of their footsteps on the frozen ground.

The two of them stop abruptly. I freeze several yards behind, waiting. The moonlight's just bright enough for me to see Fyodor raising his wand. There's a loud creaking noise.

"Still the same old bridge," Gamp whispers. "Aren't you ever going to replace that thing? Or at least oil it so it doesn't make so much bloody noise?"

"The bridge is fine as it is," Fyodor says crushingly. "You vill please be quiet now. And vatch your footing. The frost has been heavy."

They begin moving forward again, and I follow at a distance. The bridge, as Fyodor warned, is a bit slippery and I have to move carefully. I can't hear any water beneath us, but maybe it's frozen over.

Gamp and Fyodor are at the far end now. The dark bulk of the castle looms over them. I wish it was light out so I could get a proper look. I can't make out anything except a dark, somehow forbidding shape. Lights burn in a few windows, but other than that it's pitch dark. They're going in…

Bloody hell, the door's closing. Forgetting to be quiet, I break into a run, but lose my footing on the frosty grass. Fortunately I manage to keep the Cloak over myself as I sprawl helplessly on the lawn.

Recovering, I make my way cautiously to a carved wooden door. It's locked, naturally, and my hopeful _Alohomora_ accomplishes nothing. I retreat behind a bush and pull out the mirror.

_"Muffliato,"_ I whisper. "Ron? Are you there?"

"Harry?" a startled voice answers almost immediately. "Is that you? Is anything wrong? Hermione - "

"Hermione's fine," I say quickly. "I need you to come and open the door for me."

"What door? I'm at _Durmstrang_, Harry, I can't go round letting you into places." The voice doesn't sound anything like Ron's, but the "Harry, are you losing it?" tone is definitely that of my best mate.

I peer closer into the glass at what looks like a giant marshmallow. It must be the cold air fogging it up. "I know you're at Durmstrang," I say, grinning. "So am I. Come down and open the front door and let me in."

**Ron**

I stare blankly into the glass for a moment. "Right," I say, recovering. "I'll just - you've got your Invisibility Cloak on, haven't you?" He must have; I can't see him at all.

"Yes," Harry answers. "Hurry up, will you? It's freezing out here!"

I hurry down the front staircase as quickly as I can without tripping over the damned sheet. What the hell is Harry doing here? Something big must be happening - they must have had a tip-off. I've just thrown the door open when I hear someone coming into the hall. I quickly motion "stay back" in the general direction of the lawn and turn to see who it is. Oh, damn it - not _him_.

"And vhich of our not-so-creatively costumed staff members is this?" Baranov says silkily. "Judging from the - er - size, I am thinking it is our Chess Master, is it not?"

Damn. _Damn._ Why'd he have to come out right now? "Yeah," I say. "Just getting some air. It's a bit stuffy in there." I nod back over my shoulder in the general direction of the party.

"Alvays you are vanting the fresh air," Baranov remarks lightly. "I vas under the impression, Professor, that you vere finding our climate too cold for your liking."

"I think I'm a bit feverish," I say hastily. "I'm sure I'm coming down with a cold." I cough loudly to prove my point.

"In that case, surely the night air is bad for you," Baranov says. "It vould be perhaps viser to ask Madam Irina for a potion and retire to your quarters, vould it not?" He turns, ermine robes sweeping behind him. "Come, Professor, it is much _healthier_ for you to stay inside tonight."

"All right," I say loudly to the lawn. "I'm closing the door now…" I motion "come on" and shrink back against the door frame as I feel something slide by me. _Please let that have been Harry,_ I think, closing the heavy door with a bang. Baranov pauses slightly, then moves away.

"Who the hell was that?" Harry's voice says in my ear, making me jump.

"The headmaster," I say under my breath. "What are you doing here?"

"Not here," Harry whispers back. "Where can we talk safely?"

I take a quick look around, but the hall and the corridor beyond seem to be deserted. "Follow me," I whisper, and lead the way to my quarters.

**Hermione**

The Bulgarians have disappeared, and the other guests are all talking about Quidditch loudly and enthusiastically. It's disappointing not to have learned more, but I can't help feeling relieved that I don't have to stay any longer. Avoiding Ginny, I edge up to George and wait for a break in the conversation to catch his eye.

"I'm going home," I say in a low voice. "And if you want to keep being my favorite brother-in-law, you won't say a word to Ginny or Angelina till after I've gone."

"Was that drunk Russian bloke bothering you?" George asks. "Because if he was, I probably owe it to Ron to get even with him. I think I've got a Canary Cream in my pocket." He starts rummaging, but I shake my head.

"He's Bulgarian, not Russian, and he was just telling me about Durmstrang," I answer. "I'm quite all right - this just isn't really my sort of crowd."

George looks around. "I don't reckon it is," he agrees. "Which is why I was so surprised when you agreed to come along." He grins at me. "If you want to know about Durmstrang, Hermione, you ought to talk to Xeno Lovegood. He bored the socks off me talking about it when he came into the shop last week."

"I don't care about Durmstrang," I say hastily. It wouldn't do to let George suspect what I'm after. "It was just marginally more interesting than hearing about the last fifty goals he scored." Then his words sink in. "And I wouldn't ask Xenophilus Lovegood about _anything_ unless I wanted a completely fictional account!"

"You'd be surprised," George answers. "Old Xeno's pretty knowledgeable - insane, mind, but quite well-read all the same. He gave me lots of information about vampires when I was working on those Flashing Fangs for the joke shop. Of course, then he said he was sure most of the Durmstrang staff were vampires, so there you are. I expect it'll be next month's lead article in _The Quibbler_."

Vampires… what was it Luna said about them? Something called the Brotherhood of Blood… but that can't be _real_ - can it?

George is looking over my head. "I've got to go rescue Angelina," he says. "She just gave me our "help, I've been trapped by a crashing bore" signal. Sure you don't want me to take you home?"

"I'll be perfectly fine," I say absently. I Summon my cloak from the heap of them on our hostess's bed and make my way out to the street, still thinking. I hope Pig isn't out hunting, because I need him to take a letter to Xeno Lovegood for me.

**Harry**

Ron, still draped in his ghost costume, ushers me through what looks like a classroom and into the room beyond. Locking the door behind us, he does a quick Soundproofing Charm and starts the usual Auror drill, checking for any breaks in the charms protecting the room.

Once we're satisfied the room's safe, I let the Cloak fall to the floor and take a proper look around. "So this is what teacher's private quarters look like," I say, impressed. "I'm beginning to think we both made a mistake going into the Aurors. Here I've been spending every Galleon I earn trying to make Grimmauld Place fit for human habitation, and you've been living like a bloody rock star!"

"A what?" Ron asks, pulling the white sheet over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the bed. He glances around vaguely. "The room's all right, but the food's absolutely disgusting. Harris ought to thank me - he'll be down at least a couple of stone by the time this is done."

"I'm not sure it carries over to the original person," I say, thinking that Harris doesn't actually look that much smaller to me. "Is the whole school like this?"

Ron shakes his head. "Just the teacher's quarters," he answers. "And if you think this is posh, you ought to see Baranov's rooms. The rest of the place isn't anything much, especially compared to Hogwarts. They hardly ever light the fires, and the food - "

"Right," I say, interrupting what I'm sure is going to be a long monologue on the inferior quality of the meals. "I followed Jeremy Gamp here tonight. Some bloke called Fyodor came to meet him."

"That'll be Kirilov, the Dark Arts professor," Ron answers at once. "One of the kids said she saw him going outside earlier. Something must be up."

"They're having a meeting somewhere in the castle tonight," I tell him. "Any idea where that could be?"

Ron shrugs. "Shame there's not a Marauder's Map for Durmstrang," he says. "On the bright side, it's a lot smaller than Hogwarts and we can definitely rule out the main hall and the student dormitories. It shouldn't take us too long to track them down."

I pick up the Cloak from the floor and hold it out. "Take off that fur thing first," I say, as he moves toward me. "There isn't room for the two of us and a whole bloody bear under here."

"I think it's wolf fur, actually," Ron answers, reluctantly letting the fur cloak join his ghost costume. "And it may not be exactly slimming, but you need it to keep out the cold in this place."

That I can believe. "Let's go," I say, draping the Cloak over both of us. "Any idea who else is in on it?"

"Etilka Varga and maybe Baranov," Ron answers. "Other than that, your guess is as good as mine." He looks thoughtful. "I wonder if they could be meeting in the staff room."

"They're trying to _hide_," I remind him.

"You haven't seen the Durmstrang staff room," Ron answers. "None of the teachers ever use it - the dust is at least an inch thick. Anyway, we've got to start somewhere."

Good point. "Lead the way," I tell him.

Ron pauses in the doorway. "Harry," he whispers. "You're sure Hermione's all right?"

I give him a push. "She's fine," I say firmly. "I'll tell you all about her later. Now, can we go before they have the meeting without us?" 


	4. Chapter 4

**Ron**

The door of the staff room's closed when we get there, and there's a faint rim of light showing around the edges. I nudge Harry. "There's never a light in there," I whisper. "They don't bother because no one ever uses it for anything." I press my ear against the wood, but I can't hear anything. "I'll bet they're in there," I say, frustrated. We don't dare open the door - even with the Invisibility Cloak, it'd be a bit noticeable.

Harry fishes in his pocket and produces a set of Invisible Ears. Grinning at me triumphantly, he feeds them under the door. At first I can't hear anything, but then someone speaks.

Unfortunately, he's not speaking English. "What's that, Bulgarian?" Harry whispers.

I shrug. Just because I've been living here for two months, he needn't expect me to know the difference. Foreign is foreign as far as I'm concerned. "Great," I say, annoyed. "Why the hell can't they speak English, anyway? What about Gamp?"

"That _was_ Gamp," Harry answers. "He went to school here -he probably picked it up then."

Well, good for Jeremy bloody Gamp. We can't all be language experts.

Harry's fishing in his pockets again. "Got a quill?" he whispers.

Of course I do. I'm a teacher now; I always have quills. I hand it over, watching as Harry starts scribbling on a crumpled bit of parchment. "I'm going to write it down phonetically," he explains, seeing my expression. "There's bound to be someone who can translate it."

It's not a bad idea - if they can make any sense out of what Harry's writing. I leave him to it and concentrate on recognizing as many voices as I can. That's Kirilov (no surprises there), and that's Etilka (nor there)… that one's only vaguely familiar, but I'm quite sure it's that weird bloke who teaches Astronomy. Krum was right about him, then.

Suddenly I recognize a word. Two words as a matter of fact.

"Lucius Malfoy!" I mouth, looking at Harry.

He nods and continues with his writing.

Well, well. Up to his old tricks, is he? Or not, possibly, seeing as I haven't heard his voice yet. I suppose they might just be saying Malfoy isn't on their side anymore - but somehow, I highly doubt it.

Kirilov's speaking again, saying more names. Harry writes them down, pausing to give me a questioning look.

"They're students," I say grimly. "And you've spelled Grigor's name wrong." Actually, he's spelled all of them wrong. But it doesn't matter. I know who they are.

Harry stops writing and stares at me. "Students?" he whispers. "Half-bloods?"

"Nope," I say. "Recruits, probably."

Kirilov pauses, and a new voice speaks. It's not as deep as his voice - it's younger; less sure of itself.

"That's him," I whisper, tapping Grigor's name on the parchment.

Grigor goes on, speaking slowly and solemnly - almost as though he's repeating something he's learned off by heart. Or as if…

Harry says it first. "I think," he whispers, leaning toward me, "that he's just been sworn into the Brotherhood."

**Harry**

We listen as the process is repeated with three others - all young boys, by the sound of it. Ron seems to know who they are, which is a good thing seeing as I've probably mangled their names.

Eventually the initiation ceremony's followed by the sounds of general conversation. I hear a few chairs being pushed back. Footsteps are coming nearer to the door.

"Hurry up!" Ron whispers. I reel the Ears back in and stuff them into my pocket. The two of us take off, just as the door opens.

There's no time to get away. We press ourselves into a small recess in the wall and watch as the room empties out. Four boys leave first, dressed in the blood-red robes of Durmstrang students. Those must be the new recruits. They look half-frightened, half-excited as they hurry past us.

The boys are followed by a woman. She's not dressed for outdoors, so it's a safe bet that she came from here in the castle. If I had to guess, I'd say it's the Ancient Runes professor, the one who first contacted Harris.

And here's Gamp, dressed once more as a Muggle ghost and escorted by two men, one of whom I'm pretty sure is Kirilov. I'm about to follow them when Ron grabs my arm and nods frantically at the doorway. Three other people are emerging - two men and a woman, all wearing heavy fur robes.

"Who are they?" I mouth, and Ron shrugs.

The three turn in the opposite direction from Gamp and his friends. We wait, but that seems to be all. I look at Ron as the last of the footsteps die away. His Polyjuice is starting to wear off and he's starting to look more like himself again. (He's also taking up considerably less space under the Cloak.) "We could split up and follow them," he's whispering. "I don't dare let Baranov spot me near the door again, but I could find out where those others are going."

"No, you couldn't," I whisper back. "Ron Weasley can't afford to be seen here any more than Harry Potter can."

Ron looks down at himself in annoyance. "The Polyjuice flask is in the pocket of my fur cloak," he admits. "I knew you should've let me wear it, Harry."

No, I shouldn't. "Which do you think?" I ask. "Gamp's supposed to be my quarry, but - "

"But he's probably not going anywhere except back to London," Ron agrees. "Let's follow the other lot."

But the corridor and all of the rooms leading of it are deserted. "They might be anywhere," I say, finally admitting defeat after we've searched what feels like the whole castle. "They probably left through a different door or something."

"Let's go back to my rooms and talk it over," Ron agrees. "You can stay for a bit, can't you, Harry?"

There's a hopeful note in his voice that reminds me of just how lonely the past two months have probably been for him. "Course I can," I agree.

Ron's transformation is complete by the time we've locked ourselves in his quarters and removed the Invisibility Cloak. "You've no idea what a relief it is to stop being Harris for a bit," he says, stretching. "Care for a butterbeer, Harry? I think the kids left me a few bottles."

"What kids?" I ask, sinking down onto one of the most comfortable sofas I've ever come across.

Ron looks slightly anxious. "The half-bloods," he admits in a low voice. "I had a bit of a party for them here tonight - I've been teaching them Defense."

I sit up straight. "You've _what_?"

"I had to," Ron protests. "They're not allowed to take Dark Arts, even though some of the purebloods like to practice on them. We've only done Shield Charms and Expelliarmus so far, but they picked it right up with a bit of practice." He grins at me. "Bit like the old D.A., isn't it?"

"You'd better hope there's not a Marietta in your lot," I warn him.

"There isn't," Ron says positively. "They're all too scared of Baranov and the others to risk telling what they've been up to. Anyway, I don't think they're safe here. I told Krum to tell you."

"He did," I say with a sigh. "And I suppose I'd have done the same in your place."

The anxious look crosses Ron's face again. "No need to tell Gawain," he warns, and I nod.

"Be careful, though," I warn.

"What else have you learned at your end?" Ron asks, clearly ready to change the subject. I oblige by filling him in on what I've been doing, but I'm not sure he's listening.

"What about Hermione?" he asks abruptly, proving my point.

"Hermione's fine," I repeat for the third time. "And so are the rest of your family - not that you've asked!"

"I was getting to them," Ron says. "What's she doing? Working too hard, probably."

I hesitate. I can't tell him about the stories that have been printed, or the endless media speculation that Hermione's having an affair with either Basil Sedgewick or Viktor Krum. It'd just worry him, and there's nothing he can do about it. "She got some good publicity on that Wolfsbane Project," I say finally.

Ron nods. "Krum left me that issue of _The Quibbler_," he says. "I've read it to shreds by now, I reckon. Do you see much of her?"

"Not that much," I say reluctantly. "You know Hermione - work's always been her way of coping. But she did come out to dinner with me and Ginny a few nights ago - and your mum's determined to make her spend Christmas at the Burrow."

Ron slumps back in his chair, looking relieved. "I was afraid she might try to figure out where I'd gone," he admits.

"There's no way she could find out," I say. "Unless you let something slip."

"I was careful!" Ron protests. "But she's clever, Hermione. She might easily figure it out if she put her mind to it."

"She was the cleverest witch at Hogwarts when we were there," I concede. "But even she couldn't begin to guess where you are right now."

**Hermione**

I'm almost certain that Ron's mission has something to do with Durmstrang. I just haven't figured out exactly what it is, but Durmstrang seems to be popping up with an ominous regularity lately. The one place I'm certain he _isn't_ is South America - mostly because both _Witch Weekly_ and Rita Skeeter's column mentioned he'd been sighted in Brazil recently.

Now I pause outside the _Quibbler_ offices. Xeno recently relocated to a small building on a side street in Diagon Alley, although he still seems to be the sole employee. I decided against sending an owl once I'd had a chance to think it over. It'd be a bit noticeable - assuming, of course, that anyone's bothered to notice anything I do. Still, the habit of secrecy comes naturally after all that we went through with the Horcruxes.

While I'm hesitating, Xeno himself comes to the door and peers out. "Why, it's Hermione Weasley!" he says, appearing entirely unsurprised to see me standing there. "Do come in and get warm, my dear - it's a nasty day out!"

The rain that's been threatening all morning has just started to fall, and the wind's picked up. I follow Xeno inside gratefully, but decline his offer of gurdyroot tea. "I was just passing," I say, taking the chair he indicates. "And I thought I'd look in and ask if you'd heard anything from Luna recently. Is she still in Tibet?"

Xeno beams. "I had an owl from her just two days ago," he says. "They've given up the Tibet idea in favor of the Carpathian Mountains. I must say I was relieved - Everest is no joke at this time of year, you know!"

The Carpathian Mountains… when did I hear that recently? Probably Luna, describing them as the habitat of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Xeno launches into a long description of the migratory pattern of the Snorkack, while I try to keep my skepticism from showing. I can't just come right out and ask him about the Brotherhood of Blood - there's got to be some way to lead up to it gradually.

And then I spot them. "Are those the Flashing Fangs?" I interrupt, crossing the room to pick up a rather too lifelike set of teeth. The fangs gnash themselves together, emitting colored sparks, and I hastily withdraw my hand.

"Indeed they are!" Xeno says, willing to be diverted. "A very clever man, George Weasley. He gave me that set for free because I told him so much about vampires."

"They're - er, very interesting," I say. "I don't know much about vampires myself, except for Dracula, of course."

"My dear," Xeno says pityingly. "Dracula was an amateur. I could tell you stories - but I suppose you haven't much time?"

"As a matter of fact," I say, reseating myself. "I've got an extra-long lunch hour today. I'd love to hear your stories."

**Ron**

It's brilliant having Harry here. I wish he could stay, but I can't exactly hide him when they search my rooms all the time.

I've already brought Harry up to date on everything that's happened here, and he's just finished filling me in on what's going on at his end. Now he's looking at his watch. "I'd better go," he says apologetically. "Look, I'll ask Krum to bring you some proper food, all right? Anything else you need?"

"Hermione," I say. Harry rolls his eyes. "All right, I know." I think about if for a minute. "You might ask him to bring me a newspaper or something."

"Right," Harry says. He pulls a scrap of parchment out of his pocket and looks at it thoughtfully. "You haven't got an English-to-Bulgarian dictionary, have you? We might have a go at translating some of this."

"No dictionary in the world is going to recognize that as Bulgarian," I say. "Anyway, I don't think they even use the same alphabet we do. You'd better show it to someone at the Ministry - or maybe Krum would have a look at it for you."

"There's a limit to how much I want to trust him," Harry says.

I stare at him. I thought I was the one who didn't trust Krum. "Are you telling me he could be one of them?" I demand. "Does Gawain know?"

Harry shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. "I don't really think he's a traitor," he says. "It's just - well, I can't get it out of my head, and I know he was under the Imperius Curse at the time, but - "

He's not making sense. "When?" I say, and then I get it. "In the maze, you mean. During the third task."

"Yeah," Harry admits. "I know I'm being stupid."

"It's no worse than me not trusting him because he asked Hermione out," I say. "Maybe you ought to leave the parchment with me. I'll find a dictionary in the library and have a go."

Harry hesitates. "It's only till tomorrow," I point out. "Krum will be here for the Quidditch match. If I haven't got anywhere with it by the time he gets here, I'll hand it over."

"I reckon that'd be all right," Harry agrees. "Now, how am I going to get out of here? Kirilov let some sort of drawbridge down before, but he may have taken it back up by now. Is the water frozen enough to cross without it?"

"What water?" I say. "That bridge goes over a canyon, not a stream."

"Great," Harry says unenthusiastically. "Don't suppose you know the spell to let it down?"

"No," I say. "But I know where they keep a couple of extra school brooms. They make the ones at Hogwarts look like Firebolts, but I reckon one of them ought to get you over the canyon all right."

**Harry**

"And you've no idea who the others were?" Gawain asks for the third time.

"None," I say, also for the third time. "Don't their descriptions mean anything to you?"

"Not to me," Gawain says thoughtfully. "I'd like to see what Krum thinks. I don't suppose you could try sketching them?"

Even magic can't make me a good artist, but I do my best. Gawain rolls his eyes over the result. "I don't think it's that bad," I say defensively.

"They're barely recognizable as humans," Gawain says sternly. "Which one is supposed to be the woman?"

"That one, of course," I say, pointing. I've given her long hair - is he blind? "Although she wasn't exactly a beauty - her hands were as big as mine. Now, this bloke here was in dark-green robes and this one was in black. They both had beards, so it was hard to see their faces, but the dark-green one looked to be in his late forties and the one in black was quite a bit younger."

"I'll take your word for it," Gawain says, picking up the sketch again. "As I recall, Weasley's artistic skills are about on the same level as yours, so I don't suppose there's any point in having Krum ask him for his version."

"It's not something you can learn, drawing," I protest. "Either you've got talent or you haven't - and I'm willing to admit I haven't. The only person I know who might be able to draw them properly is Dean Thomas, and seeing as he wasn't there - " I stop in mid-sentence as an idea occurs to me.

Gawain eyes me. "Well?" he demands suspiciously.

I don't dare to tell him I got the idea from one of Dudley's favorite television shows, or he'll never go for it. "If I described someone to Dean very carefully and asked him to draw the person I was telling him about… well, I wonder if he might come up with a decent likeness."

Gawain's silent for a minute, and I'm afraid he's going to reject the idea. He's not much on new ways of doing things. But to my surprise, he nods slowly.

"See if he's able to come at once," he says.

**Ron**

I'm not getting anywhere with this bloody dictionary. Mind, it would help if Harry'd spelled any of the Bulgarian words properly. Always assuming they are Bulgarian, that is. That lot in there could have been speaking Mermish for all we knew.

I turn the parchment upside down to see if it helps, but all it does it make Harry's writing look marginally more like some of the unfamiliar symbols in the Bulgarian side of the dictionary. Maybe if I tried looking up the Bulgarian for words I thought they might have been using… words like Brotherhood, or blood, or -

"Professor?" a voice says hesitantly. "I am disturbing you?"

I hastily pull the dictionary over the scrap of parchment and look up. Oh, good, it's just Anya. "Not at all," I tell her. "Did you need something?"

Anya shakes her head. "I am just vishing to thank you for our party last night," she assures me. "And for teaching us, as vell. Already ve are all practicing, and I am the best, I think."

I do a hasty _Muffliato_, even though we're alone. "I hope you're being careful about where you practice," I say, managing not to smile. It's a good sign that Anya's still got plenty of self-confidence, considering the way she gets treated around here.

"Alvays ve are careful," Anya assures me. "But it is very good that ve vill have something to do this veekend, now that the Qvidditch match has been called off."

I stare at her, dismayed. "Why's it called off?" I demand.

Anya giggles. "You are vorking very hard if you are not noticing," she says pointing to the window.

I look up. Bloody hell, it's a blizzard.

"Already there is so much snow that ve could not go to Herbology," Anya says. "It vill not be stopping for many days, I think."

Great. "So Viktor Krum probably won't be coming?" I ask, just to make sure.

Anya shrugs. "Vhat for?" she asks. "There vill be no Qvidditch - and I am thinking he probably is not missing the snow so much."

I wouldn't mind missing it myself. The storm gives me an eerie feeling of being trapped at Durmstrang.

"Soon it vill be the holidays and I vill see my family," Anya says happily. "I am missing my little brothers, even, and I am never thinking I vould because they are so much trouble."

I smile at her. I remember thinking I wouldn't miss Ginny at all my first year, but I did - a little, anyway. "How old are your brothers?" I ask.

"Six," Anya says. "They are tvins."

"Really?" I say, pleased. "I have - er - friends who are twins." Oops, that was a close one. I need to learn to be on my guard, even with Anya.

Anya looks politely unimpressed to hear this. "That is very interesting, Professor," she lies. Her bright eyes drop to the book on my desk. "Professor! You also are learning! You vish to be speaking Bulgarian?"

"I'm afraid it's a bit past me," I admit. "I was just trying to look up a few words that I - er - overheard somewhere, but I don't seem to be getting on with it very well."

"I vill help you," Anya offers. "Vhat are these vords?"

I hesitate, but the truth is that I probably trust Anya and the other halfblood kids a lot more than anyone else at Durmstrang. "Here," I say, handing her the parchment.

Anya's lips twitch as she looks at the parchment, but she's heroically trying to keep a straight face. "You can laugh if you want," I say resignedly. "I know nothing's spelled properly."

"These are not vords, I think!" Anya says, giggling. "Somevun maybe is playing a trick, Professor?"

"What if I read them out to you, the way they sounded to us - er, me?" I suggest. Haltingly, trying to recreate the accents of Gamp and the others, I read the nonsense words on the parchment aloud.

"Well?" I say at the end, looking up hopefully.

Anya's face is puzzled. "You vill please say the vords again?" she asks.

I do my best.

"It is no vunder the dictionary vas not helping," Anya says. "These vords you are saying sound to me like Romanian."

Whatever. Like I said, foreign's foreign. "Did it make any sense?" I ask.

"The first part means 'in the spring time', " Anya says. "Something vill happen then."

"What?" I ask.

Anya shrugs. "That I am not knowing, but the person speaking is saying it must all be very secret," she answers. "He is saying that many peoples vill be joining them vhen it is time to act, and then he says it vill be in the spring."

"Are you sure it means spring and not winter?" I ask hopefully. I don't want to be stuck here _that_ long. I'm almost afraid to ask her when spring comes at Durmstrang in case she says July.

Anya gives me a severe look. "They are not the same vord in Romanian, just as they are not in English," she says. She takes the parchment from me again and looks it over. "Vhy are these names on here?" she asks. "Are these the people you vere hearing?"

Oh hell - Grigor and the others. "No," I lie quickly. "That's a list of kids who are going to get detentions next time they annoy me. I just scribbled the other thing over it because I hadn't any other parchment with me."

Anya looks approvingly at me. "These are good people for detentions," she says. "Especially Grigor. Alvays he is annoying." She looks down again. "Vhat are these numbers on the back?"

I've no idea. Probably Harry doing his banking or something. "I don't know," I say, truthfully enough. "Anya? This thing that's going to happen in the spring - do any of these words tell you where it's going to happen?"

"Oh, yes," Anya says calmly. "It vill happen here at Durmstrang."

No chance of me getting out of here before Christmas, then. I reach for the parchment again. "What about this bit here?" I ask, sounding out something that may or may not actually be a word.

_"Paianjen,"_ Anya says, correcting my pronunciation. "It means spider."

I knew I didn't like that word. "That's odd," I say, fighting the urge to drop the parchment to the floor and stamp on it. "I can't think of any reason why the - er, people I overheard would have been talking about spiders. The way they were saying this one word, it almost sounded like someone's name."

To my surprise, Anya's face turns white. "Paianjen," she whispers. "Oh, Professor, surely you are not thinking he is here at Durmstrang?"

**Hermione**

"Oh, there you are, Hermione!" Mafalda says, looking up as I drop my bag onto my desk. "Someone's been looking for you."

"Basil?" I ask. Goodness, I hope not - I still haven't finished researching those ancient property laws.

Mafalda shakes her head. "No, a Healer," she answers. "I told him you were _still_ at lunch. He seemed rather surprised." She glances pointedly at her watch.

_Shut up, Mafalda,_ I think. _I've put in more hours than anyone else in this place - I'm entitled to the occasional long lunch._ "Did he leave his name?" I ask, managing not to snap at her.

"He left you a note," Mafalda says. She gives up all pretense of working, choosing instead to watch me as I unfold a piece of lime-green parchment. "I suppose it's something to do with that Wolfsbane Project of yours."

That's what I'd expected, too. Only it isn't. "I'll be back in a moment," I say, heading for the door.

"You've only just come back," Mafalda protests. "Oh dear, I hope nothing's gone wrong!"

**Harry**

"Make the nose a bit larger," I say, leaning over Dean's shoulder. "Yeah, like that… and the eyebrows ought to be a little thicker." I close my eyes for a second, trying to remember. Aurors are trained to be observant, but there were so many people there that I didn't recognize, I'm afraid I'm getting some of them mixed-up. I look down at the parchment under Dean's hand. "That's definitely one of them!" I say triumphantly. "Let's try another!"

Half an hour later, we've got reasonably good facsimiles of the three strangers. "You're brilliant," I tell Dean gratefully.

"Excellent," Gawain seconds. "I may need to call on you again, Mr. Thomas. You will naturally be compensated at whatever rates you normally charge."

Dean grins at him. "Get Harry to pose for a portrait and we'll call it even," he suggests.

I groan. "Not that again?" I ask. "I thought I'd talked Kingsley out of it."

"It's not the Minister, mate," Dean tells me. "It's Professor McGonagall. Go on, you wouldn't turn Hogwarts down, would you?"

Gawain looks mildly interested. "Is Minerva commissioning portraits for Hogwarts?" he asks.

Dean nods. "She wants one of Harry on his own for the Great Hall and one of him with Ron and Hermione for the Gryffindor Common Room."

"Come on," I protest, embarrassed. "I'll have kids of my own one day - I don't want them having to see me staring at them every time they sit down to do their homework."

"Maybe they won't be in Gryffindor," Dean says, and then ducks as I throw one of the sketches at him.

"None of that," Gawain says, but he looks amused as Dean rescues the sketch and gets to his feet. "I shall do my best, Mr. Thomas, but I fear it will be of little use."

"That's what I told the Headmistress," Dean says philosophically. "Well, it was worth a go, anyway."

I get up to show him out. "Seriously, Dean, try and talk her out of it," I start, just as Hermione rounds the corner and comes hurrying toward us.

"Harry, I need to talk to you right away," she says breathlessly. "I - oh, hello, Dean."

"Hi," Dean says. "Haven't seen you since the wedding. How's R-" He breaks off, looking uncomfortable.

"I had a note from Marvin," Hermione says, ignoring Dean's blunder and looking straight at me. "Could I have a quick word?"

"I can find my way to the lift all right," Dean says quickly. It's fairly obvious that he doesn't quite know what to say to Hermione. "Oh - I nearly went off with this! Here you are, Harry." He hands me the sketch I tossed at him earlier.

"Thanks again," I call after him. I turn to Hermione. "What's this about Marvin? Is there a problem with the Wolfsbane again?"

"Then you didn't know," Hermione says. "It's nothing to do with the Wolfsbane, Harry. It's Perdita. She's left the Aurors."

"Already?" I say, startled. "I didn't think she was having the baby for months."

"She isn't, idiot," Hermione says impatiently. "She resigned her position."

Perdita? "There must be some mistake," I say, but Hermione shakes her head.

"Marvin's her _husband_, Harry," she says. "I think he'd know." She sighs. "I wish Ron were here to talk to her."

"She wasn't exactly speaking to him by the time he left," I remind her. I'm not sure how much Hermione knows about Perdita, so I've got to go carefully here. " Look, I think I know what's wrong with Perdita, and I can sort of understand why she felt - "

"Oh, that nonsense about her brother," Hermione interrupts. "As if anyone thinks she'd be involved in all that!"

_Ah. Evidently she knows all of it. Nice one, Ron._ "You aren't supposed to know anything about that," I tell her, looking nervously over my shoulder.

She waves this off. "Harry, you need to talk to her," she says firmly.

"Why me?" I protest.

"Because Ron isn't here and she won't talk to me," Hermione says. She gives me an expectant look. "You will, won't you?"

It can't always be an easy life, being Ron. I sigh. "I'll do what I can," I say.

Hermione looks relieved. "I knew you'd say that," she says. As she turns to go, her eyes fall on the sketch in my hand. "What's that, a portrait of you?"

I unroll it and show it to her. "Look like anyone you know?" I ask, half-joking.

To my surprise, she nods. "It's the wizard from the St. Mungo's board meeting," she answers at once. "The one who was talking to Lucius Malfoy afterwards. I'm pleased to see that you're finally doing something about him!"

**Hermione**

"Tell me again about this wizard from St. Mungo's," Gawain says.

I repeat his comments and the conversation I overheard with Lucius Malfoy. "Do you know who he is?" I ask.

"Oddly enough, no," Gawain admits. "However, it ought to be easy enough to track him down. Harry, go and ask Persimmon to find me a list of St. Mungo's board members."

Harry leaves the room, throwing me a warning look over his shoulder. He needn't worry - I'm certainly not going to ask Gawain where Ron is, or about what happened to Perdita. (Although if I thought it'd be any use, I might try.)

"Any more trouble with your Wolfsbane Project?" Gawain asks me.

I shake my head. "Mrs. Longbottom - you know, Neville's grandmother - is letting us use her house to brew the potion," I say. "She said she's more than a match for Lucius Malfoy and she pities him if he dares to try anything!"

Gawain half-smiles. "So do I," he says. "Are you - er - quite well?"

"I'm as well as can be expected," I answer levelly.

Gawain looks as near to uncomfortable as I've ever seen him. "I hope you'll come to me if you're in need of anything," he says.

"Got it," Harry says, opening the door and waving a piece of parchment at us.

"Excellent," Gawain says, clearly relieved by the interruption. "Let's have a look."

Five minutes later, we're staring at each other in confusion. I could put a face to every name on that list - and none of them belonged to the man in dark-green.

"I'll speak to Healer Bainbridge," Gawain says at last. "He ought to know."

I'm none too sure - Healer Bainbridge couldn't see much past the end of his nose, as I recall - but there's nothing more to be said. Gawain's already holding the door open for me. "Thank you for your help, Hermione," he says. "And remember what I said."

I don't trust myself to speak. I just nod and hurry back to my own Department.

Basil still hasn't appeared, thank goodness, so I force myself to do some work on the ancient property laws. But all the time my mind is racing back and forth between the man in green and the stories I heard today from Xeno Lovegood. Not that I believe them, of course. Everything in the _Quibbler'_s nonsense - isn't it?

**Ron**

It takes me a while to find out what Anya's so worked up about. Mind, the thought of a giant spider crawling up the walls of Durmstrang threw me for a minute, too. Anyway, it turns out Paianjen isn't a giant spider. He's a vampire. A very _bad_ vampire, according to Anya.

"They didn't point and say 'oh, there's Paianjen,' or anything," I assure her. "They just kept saying the word and I somehow got the feeling they were talking about a person. I reckon they could have meant a real spider, although I'd think it'd die of the cold here."

"You are thinking I am very silly," Anya says.

"Not at all," I say. "I just don't think you need to be afraid." _Not of vampires, anyway. Just of some of your teachers._

Anya sighs. "I am forgetting that you vould not know, being from England," she says. "My mother is from Romania, and she is telling me many stories. Paianjen lives in a cave in the mountains there vith many other vampires. He is the - I am not knowing the English vord - he is telling the others vhat to do - "

"The boss?" I suggest.

Anya nods. "Yes, exactly," she says. "Vun night they attacked a small village near my mother's home and many people vere killed. My mother is only a little girl at the time, but she is not forgetting."

Bloody hell. I never thought I'd say this, but I really hope they were talking about an infestation of spiders at Durmstrang and not saying they'd got this Paianjen bloke to join up with the Brotherhood.

"Vampires are _not_ good," Anya says.

"I did know that much," I say. "Don't forget, though, Anya - you know how to protect yourself now. And I'm here - I'd never let a vampire get you."

"You are very brave, but also you are English," Anya says doubtfully, but she looks slightly more cheerful. "Do you know spells that vould stop a vampire?"

"You can ask your mum when you go home for the holidays," I say, hoping to distract her a bit. "Who are you going to see besides your brothers? Have you got lots of cousins?"

It works, and she prattles on happily about her family for several minutes. "I must go or I vill be late to dinner," she realizes at last, when I get up to put on a light. "Professor? Vhat vill you do for the holidays? Vill you go back to England?"

I wish she hadn't asked. "Oh, I don't quite know," I say, as cheerfully as I can manage. "I may travel round a bit instead." _Or I may just spend two weeks locked up in this bloody room missing my wife. Hard to say, really._

The door's no sooner closed behind her when it opens again.

"That half-blood girl vas here," Etilka Varga says disapprovingly.

"Detention," I say quickly.

Etilka looks pleased. "I too have often to place them in detention," she agrees. She looks around. "Ve are alone?"

She sounds like she's going to proposition me. _No offense, Etilka, but you're really not my type._ "Yes," I say, a bit warily.

"You remember that I told you that ve vould be needing your services," Etilka says abruptly. "The time has now come, Professor." 

**Harry**

"Mum owled me yesterday to ask if we'd be spending the night at the Burrow Christmas Eve," Ginny says, reaching for the teapot. "I told her it'd depend on your work schedule."

I realize with a start that Christmas is in less than two weeks. "Gawain's letting me have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off," I answer. "We can stay there if you want to - but maybe we'd better just go for the evening and come back the next day. It's an awful lot of extra work for your mum when we all stay." I'm also fairly uncomfortable at the thought of spending the night in Ginny's bedroom under her parents' roof. I know we're married and they won't think anything of it - but the thought of leading Ginny up the stairs in front of her dad and all her brothers - well… it'll just be weird, is all.

"I'd rather come home, too," Ginny agrees. "It's our first Christmas as a married couple - I'd like to spend at least part of it under our own roof." She smiles at me. "If you can get off early tomorrow, maybe we could get a tree and decorate it."

Tomorrow's Ginny's day off. We usually try to take our days off together, but with Ron and Perdita both out of action, we've been a bit short-staffed in the Auror Department. "I'll ask," I say, smiling back at her. "Maybe Gawain's got the Christmas spirit."

I'm determined to at least give it a go when I get to the office. According to Persimmon, there's nothing new on the schedule. "The holidays," she explains with a shrug. "Look at this scarf I'm knitting for my nephew - isn't it a lovely color?"

I murmur something appreciative and tap briskly at Gawain's door. "I was wondering if I might leave a few hours early tomorrow - " I start, but the look on his face makes the words die on my lips.

"You remember the decoy we used in South America?" Gawain asks, ignoring my unfinished request.

"The one taking Polyjuice so people will think he's Ron?" I say. "What's he been up to?"

"Nothing - in South America," Gawain says. "He's been spotted in Bucharest. I've just gotten the word from our man there."

"Why?" I ask blankly.

Gawain gives me a grim smile. "Your guess," he says, "is as good as mine. But I'd venture to say he's gone off on some wild Hippogriff chase of his own. Jennings has always been unpredictable, but he swore to me that he'd follow orders this time."

I don't know Jennings well - I'm not sure anyone does. He tends to keep to himself, showing up for staff meetings only rarely and then scarcely opening his mouth when he does. He's got a look in his eyes that reminds me a bit of Sirius. It's not hard to picture him going off on a tangent of his own.

"In hindsight, he wasn't the best choice," Gawain admits. "But it had to be someone who wouldn't be missed, and Jennings hasn't got any family or close friends. All he's ever cared about is being an Auror."

"Maybe it wasn't him," I say hopefully, but Gawain shakes his head.

"It was Blandford who spotted him," he answers. "He knows Ron well - they worked together on that kidnapping hoax last year. He said 'Ron' seemed a bit confused, almost as though he barely recognized him. That's what made him send me the message - he thought maybe he'd been Confunded or something." He turns his attention to something on his desk, muttering something under his breath about how he's going to Confund Jennings when he gets his hands on him.

"I could go to Bucharest," I offer. "Maybe I could find out - "

"You could not," Gawain says firmly. "Weasley's recognizable enough as it is. Imagine what it would do to our investigation if Harry Potter were spotted there. No, we'll keep Blandford in place - he's a good man." He shakes his head. "I thought of ordering Jennings back, but if he _is_ onto something, I don't want to blow his cover. Although why he chose to make his investigations while disguised as someone who's just had his own Chocolate Frog card released..." He shakes his head again, looking disgusted. "I'm meeting Blandford in Geneva this afternoon - I should know more then."

"I could come with you," I offer, already knowing the answer.

"There's no point," Gawain answers firmly. "In any case, I think it's time you made contact with young Malfoy again. See if there have been any developments with Lucius. Oh, and if you have time, you might stop by St. Mungo's and ask around about our friend in the dark-green robes. Apparently Healer Bainbridge has no idea who he might have been."

From what Hermione said about Healer Bainbridge, that doesn't surprise me. "I'll go there first," I say. "We still have a team doing surveillance at Malfoy Manor - they can keep an eye on Draco for me till I get there."

Gawain snorts. "Good luck getting any sense out of young Malfoy," he says. "Jackson tells me he's too besotted with the Greengrass girl to be of much use."

"Astoria's a nice girl," I say mildly, but I leave quickly when Gawain gives me one of his looks.

**Ron**

"Grigor, tell me what you would do if you needed a new quill?" I say.

Grigor shrugs. "Vhy vould I need a new qvill?" he asks sullenly. "I am not going to England to write, surely."

"You're not going at all if you can't even manage to work that out," I say, doing my best to sound annoyed. Actually, it's not really acting. Grigor's an incredibly irritating student, even when he thinks I'm on their side.

"I am knowing," Leonid says eagerly. "You vould go to the shop in Diagon Alley, vould you not?"

"Excellent," I tell him, ignoring Grigor. "And how would you get there?"

Leonid's face falls, and I suppress a sigh. This lot's thicker than Crabbe and Goyle. I guess it's to our advantage, them being so stupid, but it makes for a really long day.

This wasn't at all what I was expecting when Etilka came to my rooms last month. I'd expected her to fill me in on what had happened at their meeting the night before - maybe tell me something about Paianjen the vampire. Instead, she (very rudely) ordered me to coach Grigor and his three thick friends so that they could find their way easily about London without drawing any attention to themselves. If she's waiting for _that_ I'll be stuck here for years - Grigor lives to draw attention to himself. Imagine a really stupid Draco Malfoy and you've got him.

"Let's move on," I tell them now. "You've all had a chance to study the Ministry of Magic information by now. Let's see how well you've learned the names of the Departments."

Not well at all, as it transpires. "Memorize them for homework," I say, giving up. "Go on, off you go!" I'm supposed to keep them for the full hour, but I rarely manage it. Etilka hasn't said anything about it yet, but if she does, I plan to point out that this is supposed to be my free period.

Left alone, I waste the rest of my free time in staring out the window. Anya was right - I don't think it's stopped snowing for more than a few minutes since that first blizzard. The snow comes up past the windows on the first two floors, making the castle even darker and gloomier than in normally is. The Durmstrangers don't appear to find this at all unusual, but I feel like I'm trapped underground.

My fourth years are arriving, full of plans for the upcoming holidays. Baranov and the other teachers haven't asked me what my own plans are yet. Maybe they're all just assuming I'm going back to England. I've half a mind to do just that. I mean, I'd have to pretend to be Harris and I wouldn't get to see Hermione and my family, but at least it'd be warmer than here. And I could get some proper food for a change. And -

Dorika sticks her head in, just as I'm about to start class. "Ve are all to come to a meeting in the headmaster's office after our final classes," she tells me. "If you vill come to my classroom, I vill show you vhere it is."

I start to say I've been to Baranov's office before, but on second thought, I'd just as soon have company. "What's the meeting for?" I ask, but Dorika shakes her head.

"That I am not knowing," she says, and disappears.

"Perhaps there is to be a party," one of the kids says hopefully, but I doubt it. You wouldn't even know Christmas was on the way, looking at this place. When I think of all the decorations at Hogwarts, and the trees Hagrid used to drag in…

"Professor?" another kid says. "Do _you_ think it is a party?"

I grin at him. "Not a chance," I say. "Right, let's mix up the partners today. Who's ready to test out those new strategies we learned yesterday?"

**Hermione**

I'm not much in the mood for Christmas shopping, but I suppose it's got to be done eventually. I did try to get out of going to the Burrow for Christmas this year, but Molly simply cornered me in the Leaky Cauldron one day and I couldn't think how to get out of it. In any case, I suppose if Ron does manage to finish whatever he's doing in time for Christmas, that's where he'll look for me.

_Don't count on it,_ I warn myself sternly. I pull out my shopping list, narrowly avoiding a large witch so burdened with packages that she's not looking where she's going. Diagon Alley's simply mobbed; I shouldn't have left things so late. The biggest crowds are going in and out of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes - a shop I intend to avoid at all costs. I'm afraid to spend too much time with George - he has a way of getting things out of people, and I'm determined not to tell him what I've learned about the Brotherhood of Blood. Turning my back on it firmly, I choose a shop at random and look down at my list. Those gloves over there with lacewing trim are pretty; perhaps Molly'd like a pair.

This shop is crowded too, and I'm forced to edge my way between shoppers to get to the glove display.

"…married far too young, if you ask me," a woman's voice says. "Personally I think it's better to wait a few years until you're really sure."

"But they've always seemed so in love," another woman answers. "Their wedding was awfully romantic, even if it was a bit - well, rushed."

"My point exactly," the first one says. "I heard he's met someone else and run off with her to Brazil. And I don't think _she_ ought to be a bit surprised, considering he did the same thing to me with _her_. What goes around comes around, you know!"

I stop. "Hello, Lavender," I say evenly.

Lavender turns pale. "H - Hermione!" she stammers. "Er - fancy meeting you here!"

"Just doing a bit of Christmas shopping," I say. I'll be damned if I tell her I'm spending Christmas with my in-laws. I turn to her companion. "Hi, Parvati."

"Hi," Parvati says weakly. "We're shopping, too - I've got masses to do; haven't even started yet." She flaps her hand vaguely in the direction of the rest of the store. "Er, how've you been?"

"Yes, how are you?" Lavender chimes in, staring at me avidly.

"Fine," I say briskly. "Quite busy with work, you know. Well, I'd best be going - I've got quite a lot of shopping to do." I wave at Parvati and turn away.

"Poor thing," I hear Parvati whisper as I move off. "I suppose she's just buried herself in work to compensate."

"I looked to see if she still had her ring on, but she's wearing gloves," Lavender answers.

Honestly. But now I feel self-conscious. It seems as though everywhere I go, people are looking at me and whispering. It's all nonsense of course - but while I'm not anywhere near as well-known as Harry or even Ron, I am rather recognizable, thanks to those damned Chocolate Frog cards. And Rita Skeeter's articles with their thinly veiled hints don't exactly help matters. As if to compound matters, the next shop I go into has a loud recording of Celestina Warbeck blaring Christmas carols. If I have to hear _Baby, Please Apparate Home for Christmas_ one more time, I'm going to scream.  
>Maybe I'd do better in a Muggle shop, where no one knows me. And Arthur, at least, would appreciate a Muggle gift. I make my way back toward the Cauldron. Luckily I've got jeans on; I won't have to go home and change first.<p>

Hannah Abbott waves to me as I pass. "Come and have a cup of tea with me, Hermione," she invites. "I haven't seen you in ages."

It's the last thing I feel like doing - but I'm fond of Hannah, and she's far too tactful to say anything about Ron in front of me. "All right," I say, taking a seat at the bar. "How have you been?"

"Wonderful," Hannah sighs, placing a steaming mug in front of me with a rather unnecessary flourish. It takes me a second to realize that she's waiting for me to notice the tiny diamond ring on her left hand.

"Congratulations," I say warmly, smiling at her.

"Neville was going to give it to me for Christmas," Hannah answers, beaming down at the ring. "But he was so excited he couldn't wait. We're getting married next June; I do hope you and R - er, I hope you'll come to our wedding." Her face turns red and she busies herself unnecessarily with wiping an already clean glass.

"I'd love to come," I answer calmly. "Has Neville decided what he's going to do next year?" Neville's been working part-time for St. Mungo's laboratory while he finishes up his studies, but his Advanced Herbology course ends this spring.

"St. Mungo's want him to come on full-time, but he's not terribly excited about it," Hannah answers, looking relieved that I'm not going to burst into tears at the mention of Ron's name. "He'd rather make things grow than grind them up for Potions. Still, there's plenty of time yet."

"Of course there is," I say. I hear a piercing giggle from behind me. Oh no - Lavender. "I've got to go, Hannah," I say hastily. "Lots of shopping to do!"

The Muggle shops are just as crowded, but I feel blissfully anonymous as I finish my shopping. I can't resist a blue silk shirt for Ron, the exact color of his eyes. _I can give it to him when he comes home,_ I tell myself. _It doesn't have to be for Christmas._

Exhaustion catches up with me in the last shop. _"I'll have a blue Christmas without you!"_ Elvis Presley informs me loudly from an overhead speaker.

"Oh, shut up, Elvis," I mutter, blinking back tears.

A shop girl looks at me sympathetically. "Know what you mean, love," she says. "You ought to try working here - it drives you bloody mad after a few hours."

I manage a weak smile and hurry out into the street. I'll feel better once I'm back in the flat.

**Ron**

Anya lingers after I've dismissed the first years. "I am finishing vith this magazine, Professor," she says, holding out the latest issue of _Chess Monthly_. "Thank you for letting us read it - and Kristov says please do you have any more, because ve are vanting very much to improve our English."

"You can have all you like," I answer. "Come on, I've got a big stack of them in my office."

Anya's still talking. "Professor, there is a story in the magazine about famous chess players," she says. "And also, there is vun about a chess tournament in Constanta."

"Yeah, I saw those," I answer, wondering if we're going to go straight down the table of contents together.

But Anya's got something else on her mind. "Professor, vhen I see that story I am thinking maybe you should go," she says.

I turn to look at her. "Go where? To Constanta? I'm not even sure where it is."

Anya looks amused. "Is in Romania," she says. "It is a very fine city - and it is not as cold as here, so I am thinking you vill like it."

"I'm sure it's brilliant," I say. "But I've got a job, remember? I can't just go Apparating off to chess tournaments whenever I like."

"It vill happen over Christmas," Anya points out. "You vould not be missing any school, and you vould learn much, I am sure. Almost it vould be as exciting as going myself."

"Yeah, well…" I say. I can't think of a more boring way to spend Christmas than watching a lot of foreigners play chess, although the thought of going someplace warmer is tempting. I'll bet the food's just as bad, though.

_You wouldn't actually have to go to the chess tournament,_ a voice in my head says. _You could just tell people that's where you were going. Then you could go somewhere else. No one would ever know._

I cut the voice off before it can give me any ideas. Anya's discovered _The Quibbler_ and she's flipping pages with a dubious look on her face.

"Surely these things are not true?" she says. "If they are, then I am thinking England must be a very strange place!" She turns another page and a delighted smile spreads over her face. "Professor, look!" she cries. "This story is about Hermione Granger."

"Hermione _Weasley_," I say, before I can stop myself. But Anya's not listening.

"Vhen I am very little, sometimes I am playing that I am Hermione," she confesses. "I am making my brothers play too, but they vere too small to be much fun."

Funny to think about kids pretending they're me, Hermione, and Harry the way Ginny and I used to play Martin Miggs, Muggle Detective. (Ginny used to get awfully fed up because I never let her be Martin. I always made her be his faithful dog, Clue.)

"I vish I could meet her," Anya's saying with a sigh.

"Maybe you will some day," I say. Hermione would love Anya - they certainly share the same approach to education - but it's hard to imagine how I'd manage to introduce them.

I keep trying to put the thought out of my mind, but after Anya's left I can't resist having a look at _Chess Monthly_. Just as she'd said, the chess tournament begins two days before Christmas and carries on until New Year's. Only I can't -

_"Spectators are welcome,"_ the article says. _"There are a number of wizard lodging houses in the area…"_

I could, though. Couldn't I?

With a start, I realize Baranov's staff meeting is in less than ten minutes. I take another swig of Polyjuice and hurry down the stairs toward Dorika's classroom. With any luck, she won't have left yet.

Dorika's nowhere to be seen, but a cauldron's bubbling over a low flame near her desk. I edge closer, curious. The potion looks sort of familiar, but I can't think why…

It hits me with the force of a Bludger because I wasn't expecting it. One minute I was just looking at a cauldron, and the next I'm enveloped in a wave of Hermione. I can smell her shampoo - the expensive one that I'm not supposed to use (even though I do sometimes anyway). And the Muggle toothpaste she insists is better than the wizard kind because it's got fluoride, whatever that is. And her perfume…

I lean against the edge of the desk, missing Hermione with a sudden, sick longing that blots out everything else. I stare into the cauldron, half-expecting to see her materialize from the vapor. _I have to see her,_ I think, even though I know it's impossible. _Even if it's just for a minute, I have to see her._

"Vat do you think of my Amortentia?" Dorika's voice says. "I make it to show my Advanced classes - but I must be very careful that none of them is stealing any!" She laughs, but I'm incapable of joining in.

"It seems all right to me," I manage in a hoarse voice, clinging to the desk.

Dorika looks at me curiously. "It is reminding you of someone, Professor?"

I nod. Well, that's not suspicious in itself, is it?

Dorika's eyes fall on my left hand. "You have been a vidower long?" she asks sympathetically.

"It seems that way," I say, managing to pull myself together. "Come on, Dorika, we don't want to be late."

Dorika's evidently trying to be tactful, because she keeps up a running commentary about how hard it is to get the kids to settle down in class during these last few days. "Amortentia, at least, vill hold their interest!" she concludes, laughing.

"You don't give exams this week, then?" I ask. I'm rather pleased with myself for managing to be coherent.

"Not until after the holidays," Dorika says. "There is no point, do you see? They are not now thinking of lessons. Although Etilka, I believe, vill be doing so vith her classes."

"She would," I say, before I can stop myself.

But Dorika only laughs. "Etilka is not looking forvard to her holidays, I think. She does not get on vell vith her family."

"What about you?" I ask, feeling sorry for Etilka's family. "Are you visiting family as well?"

Dorika nods, beaming. "I haf many nieces and nephews," she answers. "Alvays they haf grown so much!" She glances sideways at me. "And your plans, Professor?"

And I swear I never meant to say it, but somehow I find the words coming out of my mouth. "There's a chess tournament in Constanta that I'd quite like to see," I say casually. "I thought I might run over for a few days."

Dorika nods. "I vas hoping you had somevhere nice to go," she says. "You vould be velcome to stay here, of course, but you vould not be finding it so amusing."

"Don't any of the kids stay?" I ask. "Or the teachers?"

"Very few," Dorika answers. "Madam Irina, usually, and Ivan. As for the students, I am thinking there are only three or four that vill remain. It is not so comfortable here during the holidays, do you see? The house-elves are not cooking so much good food, and ve are not heating the castle so much."

So _much_? As far as I can tell, Durmstrang hasn't got any sort of heating system at all. I have a (very small and smoky) fireplace in my personal quarters, but you can see your breath in most of the castle. If I needed anything else to help me make up my mind, that was it. I feel relieved at the thought that none of the people I'm supposed to be watching will be here. If Kirilov had been staying on with Grigor and his mates, it'd be one thing - but there's really nothing to keep me here. I'm certainly not going to learn anything from Madam Irina and the inarticulate Ivan. I'm sure even Gawain would tell me to take a break. (No, really, he might. Not that I plan to ask him.) Now I just need a plan.

I turn ideas over in my mind throughout the staff meeting, barely listening as Baranov drones on and on about budgets and curriculum. He goes on forever about how we haven't got any gold for extras this year, and I amuse myself by wondering how much some of his little knick-knacks would fetch on the open market. Suddenly I catch a word and the room comes back into focus.

"…at schools such as Hogvarts," Baranov winds up.

Everyone's looking at me expectantly. "Er…" I say.

"It has been many years, ve know, Professor!" Dorika says, kicking me under the table. "But surely you can remember the subjects you studied at Hogvarts, yes? Vat are ve missing here, do you think?"

I pull myself together. "Well, you mostly cover the same things here," I say. "I hadn't thought you offered History of Magic, but you do, and - "

"It vas an experiment," Baranov says gloomily. "It is perhaps not vorking so vell."

The elderly wizard who teaches History of the Magical World glares at him. "It is not the subject," he hisses. "It is the students."

Baranov ignores him. "Anything else?" he asks.

I try to think. They haven't got Muggle Studies here, but I know better than to bring _that_ up. "Only Divination," I say at last.

Cezar Gradin from Herbology looks up, confused. "Vat is this Divination?" he asks.

Etilka makes a disgusted sound. "Tea leaves and crystal-gazing," she says superciliously. "You have studied this extensively, Professor Harris?"

Like I'd admit it after _that_. But Harris was a Ravenclaw; not many of them took Divination. "Certainly not," I tell her. "But it was popular with a lot of the students." I think of Lavender and Parvati. "Especially the girls," I add.

Krilov turns to Baranov. "Surely, Sergei, you are not thinking of offering Divination?" he asks. "For Hogvarts is all right, perhaps, but here at Durmstrang ve teach only _real_ subjects."

"It is an idea, is it not?" Baranov says thoughtfully. He shrugs. "Ve must in any case do something. Enrollment is still far below vat ve vould have vished."

"The day ve take in Muggle-borns is the day I leave this school!" Etilka hisses.

Baranov raises an eyebrow. "And who speaks of Muggle-borns?" he asks. "I am asking only for ideas to improve the curriculum, so that ve may attract a better class of student."

Etilka subsides, but the others are looking disturbed and there's a great deal of muttering going on.

"Enough!" Baranov says sharply, banging his fist down on the table. He smiles round at us in the sudden silence. "Ve vill make no decisions now. I ask all of you to spend some time over the holidays in thinking vat ve can do to improve. That is all."

I catch up with Dorika as we're all leaving. "Are things really that desperate?" I ask her in a low voice. "There seem to be plenty of students here."

Dorika gives me a wry smile. "There are," she agrees. "And if all of them vould pay their school fees, ve vould be doing very vell indeed. Sergei vorries because ve have lost two of our vealthiest families to Beauxbatons in the last year."

I have to bite my tongue not to say that they probably left because they were hungry. Fleur's always going on about how much better the food is in France. "Maybe he ought to look at the curriculum at Beauxbatons, then," I say. _Maybe he ought to look at their kitchens while he's at it…_

"Perhaps you are right," Dorika answers. "I think myself that ve vould do better to offer early career training to our older students who vill not go on to study after they leave here."

"You mean like _Learn to Train Security Trolls_ and that sort of thing?" I ask, remembering the little pamphlets they gave us at Hogwarts during fifth year.

"Vell," Dorika says, and smiles. "Not trolls, perhaps. But that sort of thing, yes."

"It's not a bad idea," I tell her. "Why didn't you suggest it to Baranov?"

"But I have," Dorika says. "Many times. He… vell, it is not so important. Vill you come to dinner now, Professor, or vill you be going later?"

I'd better have another nip of Polyjuice first. "I'll catch up with you," I say. "I just need to get something from my office."

**Harry**

I join the line in front of the Welcome Witch's station, deciding I might as well start by finding out of Marvin's working today. I can't remember if he was at that meeting with Hermione or not, but he's likely to know who the board members are. I plan to ask him about Perdita as well, although I didn't quite dare mention it to Gawain.

There are still three people in front of me when I hear someone calling my name. I turn and see Hermione waving at me.

"What are you doing here?" she asks curiously. "Not ill, are you?"

Hermione's the one who looks ill. Her face is paler than normal and she's thinner than she ought to be. It reminds me uncomfortably of the way she looked in the tent all those years ago, during the weeks when we thought Ron was never coming back.

"I'm looking for your friend in dark-green," I answer, knowing she won't react well to criticism. "I thought Marvin might be able to help me out."

"He can't," Hermione answers at once. "He hadn't any idea who he was, either. Actually, the only person at the meeting who seemed to know him was Lucius Malfoy."

Well, seeing as I can't ask _him_… or maybe I can. Draco can ask him for me.

"Marvin's not here, anyway," Hermione's saying. "I've just stopped in to talk to Healer Pye about the Wolfsbane - full moon's coming up, you know - and he told me Marvin had taken a few days off. I suppose it's because of Perdita." She gives me the expectant look again.

"No, I haven't talked to her yet," I say wearily. "But I will - I promise. Are you on your way home now?"

"No," Hermione answers.. "I thought I'd go back to the Ministry and get a bit of work done. I'm sure I'll have the place to myself - everyone's been slipping out early to go to parties and finish Christmas shopping." She shakes her head, looking annoyed. "It's terribly irresponsible the way they've been letting things slide."

I start to tell her not to work so hard, but manage to stop myself in time. She won't listen, anyway.

"Right," I say. "Well, I suppose we'll see you at the Burrow on Christmas Eve?"

Hermione sighs. "I did try to get out of it, but you know how Molly is," she says. "Head her off if she starts in on me about making things up with Ron, all right?"

"I will," I promise.

I walk with her as far as the exit, where we separate. I'm not exactly sure where to look for Draco Malfoy, but I might just as well start at his house.

Five minutes later, I'm outside Malfoy Manor talking to Jackson.

"He's in there all right," Jackson says gloomily from his perch on the wall. "All warm and cozy in front of a nice fire while I'm out here getting frostbite." He brightens. "Hey, Potter - there's no point in both of us hanging about, is there?"

"Go on," I say, grinning at him. "I'll finish out your shift."

"I'm off at six," Jackson says gratefully, sliding off the wall. "Thanks, Potter - and my girlfriend thanks you, too. She wouldn't be getting a Christmas present at all if you weren't giving me this chance to go shopping." He Disapparates almost immediately - presumably so I won't have a chance to change my mind.

I've just taken Jackson's place on the wall when the front door opens. _Please be Draco,_ I think, leaning forward.

It is. I edge my way up next to him. "Hello, Malfoy," I whisper, just as he's about to Disapparate.

Malfoy gives a start. "What the hell," he says, barely managing to keep his balance on the snow-covered lawn.

I pull back the Cloak just enough to let him see my face.

Malfoy groans. "Not now," he says, almost in a whisper.

"Just for a minute," I tell him.

"Not that forest place again," Malfoy protests. "I've got a date, Potter."

"Not the forest," I say. "I swear, it'll be fast. But it's important."

Malfoy looks irritated. "Fine," he says after a few seconds. "There's a summerhouse just beyond the back garden. I can give you five minutes." He Disapparates without waiting for my answer.

I follow, hoping he didn't lie just to get rid of me. He hasn't, though. When I push the creaking door of the summerhouse open, he's standing there waiting for me. "What the hell is it this time?" he asks. "I told you, I've got a date."

I grin at him. "Astoria Greengrass?"

"What if it is?" Malfoy says defiantly.

I shrug. "Astoria's a nice girl," I say for the second time that day.

"Too nice for me, I suppose," Malfoy sneers.

"I didn't say that," I answer, even though I've definitely thought it a few hundred times. "I don't care who you go out with. I just need to be you for an hour or so. Let me have a piece of your hair?"

Malfoy eyes me suspiciously. "Why?"

"I thought you didn't want to date Pansy anymore," I answer, skirting the truth.

Malfoy instantly puts a hand to his head and breaks off a few hairs. "Mind you don't go leading her on," he warns with a shudder. "Astoria was really upset when Daphne told her about that dinner."

"I won't say a single thing that she could take the wrong way," I say. _It shouldn't be a problem, seeing as I don't plan to go anywhere near her._ "That's all I needed. Where are you and Astoria off to?"

"Dinner and Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley," Malfoy says reluctantly. "Why?"

If he weren't a moron, he'd be able to figure out that I don't want to accidentally run into the pair of them while I'm still under the effects of the Polyjuice. "No reason," I say. "Have fun!" I give him a big smile.

Malfoy glares at me. "What are you so damned cheerful about?" he asks.

"It's the holiday season," I say. I keep the smile on my face, since it seems to irritate him. "Happy Christmas, Draco!" Clasping the hairs firmly, I pull the Cloak over my head and Disapparate.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm back. I walk boldly up to the front door of Malfoy Manor, but that's as far as I get. Maybe this is too risky - I could easily blow the whole thing with one mistake.

I've just managed to convince myself it'll be fine when Lucius Malfoy does me the first favor he's ever done in his life by opening the door and stepping outside.

"Still here, Draco?" he asks, looking surprised to see me. "I thought you'd gone."

"Not yet," I say. Inspiration strikes me. "I wanted a bit of advice, Father. It's about Astoria's gift."

Lucius looks bored. "Ask your mother," he advises. "Although I've always found jewelry to be quite successful." He starts off down the walk.

"I meant to tell you," I call after him. "I overheard something the other day that ought to amuse you."

Lucius stops. "Yes?" he says, lifting an eyebrow.

"It was when I was at the Leaky Cauldron," I say, improvising rapidly. "I overheard Hermione Weasley talking to the girl that runs the bar."

Lucius's lip curls. "Is that Mudblood still calling herself Weasley?" he asks with a sneer.

With an effort, I manage to let that one go. "She was talking about some board meeting she went to at St. Mungo's," I say. "Evidently there was one man there giving her rather a hard time about that business with the werewolves. She went on to say that he'd turned out to be a friend of yours." I give him Draco's best evil smile. "Who was it, Father? I thought perhaps we could send him an especially nice Christmas gift."

Lucius's smile makes my Draco one look actually pleasant. "Oh, I don't believe you'd recognize him," he says, rather mysteriously.

"What do you mean, recognize?" I demand curiously. "Is he someone I've seen before?"

Lucius gives a short, unpleasant laugh. "Not in his present guise, no," he says. "And it's no good asking me anything else, Draco! I think we both know how little you can be trusted with secrets."

With that, he turns and Disapparates. I stand in the snow, staring at the spot where he was. _Not in his present guise_… no wonder no one recognized the man in dark-green! He doesn't exist! But if he's not a St. Mungo's bard member, then who is he?

**Hermione**

The flat is dark and unwelcoming when I come home. Crookshanks jumps down from the sofa, winding himself around my legs.

"Sorry I'm so late," I say, bending to stroke him. "I'll feed you straight away."

There's a pile of unopened mail on the table - mostly Christmas cards. I didn't send any cards this year. I couldn't bear to write just "Love from Hermione" instead of "Hermione and Ron." I did send gifts to my parents, along with a letter explaining that Ron and I were just too busy with work to visit this Christmas. I half-promised to go and see them over New Year's. I can make some excuse for Ron - I'll say he had to work or something.

I sort half-heartedly through the cards. Some of them are addressed to both of us, but the majority just have my name on the envelope. People really believe we've split up, apparently.

_That's what they're supposed to think,_ I tell myself sternly. I brush impatiently at my eyes and start to set the cards aside. A large envelope catches my eye. It doesn't look like a card - and I don't recognize the handwriting.

Suddenly interested, I tear the envelope open. There's a letter inside, accompanied by what looks like a magazine article. And the letter's from Xenophilus Lovegood of all people.

_Upon reflection, I realized that I had quite neglected to tell you about one of the most feared vampires of our time,_ the letter reads in part. _The evil Paianjen - named for the tattoo of a spider on the back of his hand - is still at large in the mountainous regions of Eastern Europe. Many doubt his existence, but I can assure you that the author of the enclosed article speaks nothing but the truth._

Crookshanks jumps up in my lap, startling me. Stroking him absently, I unfold the magazine article and begin to read. 

**Harry**

The answer comes to me in the middle of the night, although I don't realize it at the time.

"What on earth were you dreaming about last night?" Ginny asks me the next morning. She sounds amused.

I open one eye and blink at her. "Dunno," I say. "Why?"

"Because you sat straight up in bed and said 'It's got to be Simon'," Ginny answers. "You woke me up, so naturally I asked 'Simon who?', but you'd gone back to sleep by then." She props her pillow up behind her, looking at me expectantly. "Was it Simon Parkinson? Did you dream you'd found him?"

"I don't remember," I answer, honestly enough. I don't remember dreaming at all. But now that I'm awake, the truth seems to be staring me in the face.

I haven't just _dreamed_ I've found Simon - I _have_ found him. Or maybe it's Adrian Pucey. But my subconscious seems to think it's Simon, so I'm inclined to go along with it for now.

"Hermione's man in green!" Ginny says, seeming to read my mind as she often does.

I grin at her ruefully. "You aren't supposed to know about that," I say. "But yeah, it very well could be."

"You're going to tell Gawain, aren't you?" Ginny asks.

"If I can," I answer. "He's been - away for a few days." Gawain still hasn't returned from his meeting with Blandford in Geneva, and I'm hesitant to contact him in case they're undercover or something. As a matter of fact, I'm not entirely sure he went to Geneva at all - it'd be just like Gawain to say something like that just to throw me off the track.

"Well, it's Christmas Eve," Ginny reminds me. "You might just as well relax and enjoy yourself, Harry. If it _is_ Simon, he's been hanging about for months now. He'll likely keep for another couple of days."

He might - or he might not. But Ginny's right. I can't do anything about it right now, and I won't spoil Christmas for her. "You're right," I say, kissing her. "What time at we due at the Burrow?"

"Mum told me four o'clock, but I think I'd like to get there a bit earlier," Ginny says. "Hermione's going to need all the help she can get." She frowns. "When I get my hands on that brother of mine…"

I spare a fleeting thought for Ron. This isn't going to be much of a Christmas for him. He's probably holed up in his room at Durmstrang right now, wishing he were here with the rest of us.

**Ron**

Anya was right about one thing - Constanta's warmer than Durmstrang. Mind, it's not what I'd call tropical, but it's just a normal cold like you'd get anywhere in winter. I haven't had a chance to see if she's also right about it being a "very fine city", although I've noticed a lot of old buildings that would probably start Hermione burrowing through a guidebook. But all I'm concerned with at the moment is setting up a cover and then getting the hell out of here.

It turned out to be surprisingly easy to arrange the visit. There was a special Apparition point set up for _Chess Monthly_ subscribers, and they had people waiting there to direct us to our lodging houses. Mine wasn't exactly what I'd call luxurious, but at least no one offered me any borscht. The landlady didn't speak much English - she just handed me a key and pointed. Just as well, really - the last thing I want to do is have anyone notice me.

I carefully take my dressing gown and pajamas out of my bag and spread them over the narrow bed. Slipping everything else into my pockets, I leave, locking the door behind me. I might just as well go and see a bit of the tournament - it'll help me establish an alibi.

The tournament's actually a bit more interesting than I thought it'd be. I find a good spot in the hall and settle down to watch an elderly witch take on a boy of about fifteen. The kid's obviously overconfident, and the old lady has him cornered in a matter of minutes.

"Rodney Harris?" a voice says from behind me. "It is you, isn't it?"

Oh, bloody hell. I might've known Harris would know a lot of people here. I plaster a fake smile on my face and turn round. "Nice to see you again," I say to a complete stranger. "Sorry I haven't time to chat - I've just realized the time!" I hurry off, leaving a puzzled-looking wizard staring after me.

Right. Well, that's just about enough chess for now, isn't it? Time to put phase two of my plan into action. I slow down deliberately. I'll need the unknowing help of at least four people - and maybe six would be better. That looks like a good one there.

"Terribly sorry," I apologize a moment later, helping a middle-aged wizard to his feet. "I'm afraid I didn't see you."

"Is fine," the wizard says in a heavy foreign accent. I pat his arm and get the hell away from him quickly. But I've got what I wanted.

One down, I think, retreating to a quiet corner and stowing a thin grey hair carefully in the glass jar in my pocket. Five to go.

**Hermione**

I hadn't wanted to come to the Burrow, but now that I'm here, it feels like home. If only Ron were here, too…

"Hermione, could you help me in the kitchen, dear?" Molly asks. I don't quite like the look in her eyes.

"I'll help you, Mum," Ginny says, rescuing me.

"Oh, but - " Molly starts.

"Hermione's going to help me with the tree, aren't you, dear?" Arthur interjects. "I want to hear all about the ways Muggles decorate their trees. Imagine, Molly - they save all the ornaments in a box and put them on by hand!"

"We'd better get started if we want to have it finished by the time Bill and Fleur arrive with the children," I say, throwing him a grateful look. I pick up my overnight bag. "Where shall I put this?"

Molly and Arthur exchange looks. "I hope you don't mind, dear, but I've put you in Ron's old room," Molly says, avoiding my eyes. "With the house so full, it was all I could do to find beds for everyone."

"Why on earth should I mind?" I answer.

"I'll bring that up for you," Charlie says, taking the bag from my hand. He can't quite meet my eyes either, I notice.

Oh dear. I knew this was going to be uncomfortable, but I couldn't think how to get out of it without hurting anyone's feelings. It seems as though I ought to say something, but I can't imagine what.

"I - " I start.

To my intense relief, the front door opens. "Are you all just waiting here by the door to welcome us?" George inquires, beaming at us. "Now that's what I call proper Christmas spirit!"

"I've brought the dessert I promised, Molly," Angelina says from behind him. "I followed the recipe exactly - I _think_ - but I'm afraid something didn't go quite right. If you wouldn't mind having a look - "

Angelina's an even worse cook than I am, and Molly's immediately distracted by the large covered dish in her hands. I take advantage of her preoccupation to slip into the sitting room.

"Glass of wine?" Arthur asks sympathetically.

"Please," I say. It's going to be a long two days.

Arthur hands me a brimming goblet and then tactfully turns his attention to the tree. "We've missed you," he remarks, directing a wide red ribbon through the boughs with his wand.

I take a big slug of my wine.

Arthur turns and smiles at me. "Sorry," he says. "Molly and I promised each other we wouldn't bring it up. And here you've been in the house less than ten minutes and I've already broken my promise!"

"No harm done," I say. "Molly had every intention of grilling me in the kitchen."

Arthur laughs. "So she did," he admits. His face suddenly turns serious. "It's been hard on her, although she did feel better when we got the card from Ron."

I stare at him. "You got a card? From Ron?"

Arthur immediately looks uncomfortable. "Over there, on the mantel," he says, tactfully looking away as I trip over an ottoman in my haste to reach the card.

_"Happy Christmas, hope you're all well, Love, Ron"_ I read. It certainly doesn't tell me much - but then again, it's not really from Ron. The handwriting's close - close enough to fool his parents, but not close enough to fool someone who corrected nearly every essay he wrote for six years at school. Gawain must have arranged to send it, just to throw them off.

"It wasn't an owl that brought it," Arthur says, still intent on his ribbon. "It was some sort of tropical bird. I suppose that's what they use in South America."

Yes - only I'm quite sure Ron isn't there. I set the card back without comment and join Arthur by the tree. "I think some gold bells would look lovely on the ends of the branches," I say firmly. "Shall I do them, or will you?"

**Harry**

Through the combined efforts of me, Ginny and George, we manage to keep Hermione safe from Molly. Percy unwittingly helps by popping in with Audrey after dinner to announce that they've finally chosen a date for their wedding.

"Mother was hoping you'd be able to give her some idea of your guest list," Audrey says. "Oh, I didn't mean tonight, Mrs. Weasley!"

Molly's already Summoned a quill and parchment. "No time like the present," she says happily. "And you must call me Molly, dear - we're going to be family, after all!"

"At our wedding, we 'ad more than fifty from your side," Fleur puts in, settling herself on Molly's other side. "Of course, the family 'as grown since then." She glances complacently at her small daughters, half-asleep on Bill's lap. "'Ave you chosen your bridesmaids, Audrey?"

I turn away, catching Angelina's eye. "It's not for a year and a half," Angelina whispers incredulously.

"That's why we eloped," George says in an undertone. He glances over at Hermione, already busy at the sink. "Is it safe to leave her in here, do you think?"

"No," I say regretfully. "Maybe you and I had better volunteer to finish the dishes."

"The things I do for my family," George says with a sigh. "Come on, then, Harry. And bring the rest of that bottle of wine with you. If I've got to wash dishes, I'm bloody well going to enjoy it."

Angelina and Ginny converge on Hermione, dragging her protestingly into the sitting room. "We won't talk about Quidditch," I hear Ginny say.

"Only a few more hours," George says, under cover of the rushing water. "Don't suppose you've heard anything from Ron?"

I give him a look.

"Just asking," George says with a shrug. "No one tells me anything." He flicks soapsuds at me, laughing when I duck.

"Just one thing, Harry," he says abruptly. His voice is suddenly serious. "You'd tell us if something had happened to him, wouldn't you?"

I wipe the rest of the soap off my glasses and look at him. "Yeah," I say, equally serious. "But nothing has. He's okay. I just - don't ask me anything else, all right?"

"Right," George says, looking relieved. "Just - Ron can be a right pain and all, but I've already - "

His voice trails off, and I silently finish the sentence for him. _Already lost one brother._ Christmas is always hard on the Weasleys, but it's the hardest for George.

"Yeah," I say uncomfortably. "I know."

**Hermione**

"Almost time for Celestina!" Molly announces cheerfully. She flicks her wand at the wireless, turning it up.

"I must check on zee children," Fleur says hastily. It's perfectly obvious that she's got no intention of returning.

Harry and Ginny exchange a glance and start murmuring something about wanting to make it an early night. "I think I'll go up, too," I say, under cover of the general leave-taking.

It's a relief to escape to the attic floor. Ron's old bedroom bears no resemblance to the one I remember. Molly took advantage of the renovations needed from the ghoul's long occupancy to completely redo it. There's no hint of Chudley Cannons orange anywhere. I never thought I'd miss it, but suddenly I do.

Blinking back tears, I pull my pajamas from my bag. They're Ron's pajamas, really - it makes me feel closer to him to wear them, even though they're miles too big. I start to climb into bed; then remember I haven't brushed my teeth.

I'm almost tempted to skip it, just this once, but the habit of a lifetime is too strong. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering how I can look so normal when I feel so miserable. I'm going to do a Soundproofing Charm and have a good cry when I go to bed - that'll get it out of my system.

I hear voices in the hall downstairs and scurry back to Ron's room. _I love the Weasleys - I love them all - but I really want to be alone right now,_ I think, locking the door firmly.

"You look cute in my pajamas," a familiar voice says from behind me. "Does that mean I've got to wear yours?"

Hardly daring to believe my own ears, I turn slowly to find Ron stretched out on the bed, grinning at me.

Half-laughing, half-crying, I fling myself into his arms.

**Ron**

"If I'd known it was going to make you cry, I wouldn't have come," I say teasingly, to cover the ache in my own throat.

Hermione wipes her eyes on my robe and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. "You're never leaving me again," she says firmly.

I can't tell her yet that I can only stay for a couple of hours. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the familiar smells of toothpaste and vanilla perfume. Just like Dorika's Amortentia…

Hermione's fumbling with the complicated fastenings of my cloak. "What on earth are you wearing?" she asks.

Oh, hell - I've still got my Durmstrang things on. I never thought to change.

"Never mind," Hermione decides, much to my relief. "Just take it off."

_That's my girl._ I let the heavy fur cloak drop to the floor. Gathering Hermione up in my arms, I carry her over to the bed.

**Harry**

"Nothing from Gawain," I remark, looking over the stack of mail that's accumulated in our absence.

"Many owls have come to master's house," Kreacher contributes from the doorway.

"They certainly have," Ginny agrees, handing her cloak to Kreacher. "What's this one, I wonder? It's got a funny little sticker on it."

I lean over her shoulder to see. "That's a stamp," I say, surprised. "Muggles use them on their post. I wonder who could have sent it?"

"Now I remember," Ginny says. "Mum had to use them when she sent your aunt and uncle a letter once. Only I think she used a lot more than one."

There's an understatement. I can't help smiling when I remember Uncle Vernon's face. I wonder if this could possibly be from him or Aunt Petunia? It isn't likely - I haven't had any contact with the Dursleys in years. But they're the only Muggles I know…

"It'd be easier to find out if you opened it," Ginny suggests sensibly.

Good point. I slit the envelope with my wand, revealing a brightly-colored Christmas card.

"Is it your aunt and uncle?" Ginny asks.

"No," I say slowly. "It's from Dudley."

Ginny's face mirrors my astonishment. "I thought you hated each other," she says.

"We did," I say. "At least, I always thought we did." I look down at the card again. Dudley's enclosed a picture of himself with a girl the inscription refers to as _"My finance Cynthia."_

"Old Dudders hasn't lost any weight," I say, handing the picture to Ginny. "He hasn't learned to spell yet, either."

"Finance?" Ginny says, giggling. "Is that your cousin's way of telling you he's marrying a girl with lots of gold?"

I laugh, too, but the card stirs something in me. Dudley and I will never be close, but he's family - sort of.

"I think we ought to send one back," Ginny's saying.

I stare at her. "What - now?"

"Certainly," Ginny says calmly. "I've still got a few cards left - and we might enclose a wedding picture."

I'm not sure Dudley cares, but I can't resist the temptation to show off a bit. I'll bet none of the Dursleys ever thought I could end up with a girl like Ginny. "Right," I say. "You hunt up the picture, and I'll write the card."

**Ron**

"I've missed you so much," Hermione says, a long time later. She snuggles against me contentedly. "I'm glad you waited up here to surprise me. It's selfish of me, but I want you all to myself before the rest of the family sees you."

Here we go. "Don't get upset," I start.

Hermione sits up. "No," she whispers. "Please don't say you've got to leave again."

"I shouldn't have come at all," I admit. "Mind you don't tell anyone I was here - not even Harry." She's still looking at me with wide eyes, and I'm afraid she's going to cry again. I reach out, pulling her back against me.

Hermione takes a deep breath. "How long can you stay?" she asks after a moment.

I look at my watch. "A couple of hours, maybe," I say. "I wish I could stay all night, but I don't dare. It might be noticed."

Hermione sits up again. "Is it really dangerous?" she asks in a hushed voice. "Maybe you shouldn't have risked it."

"I had to give you your Christmas present, didn't I?" I answer.

"Seeing you is all the present I need," Hermione says, but she doesn't protest when I Summon the small velvet box from my cloak pocket and hand it to her.

"I meant it for your birthday," I explain as she opens it. "Only there wasn't time, and…"

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispers. "And you've been carrying it around with you all this time?"

It's sort of a relief to be rid of it, to be honest - I was always afraid I'd lose it and I didn't dare leave it in my room at Durmstrang - but I can't tell Hermione that. "It reminded me of you," I say instead. "Here, lift up your hair and I'll fasten the chain for you."

"I've got a gift for you, too," Hermione says, lifting the tiny sapphire to admire it. "I very nearly left it at home, but then at the last minute I brought it. You might just as well open it now."

The shirt's a nice one - I don't think I've ever owned anything silk before - and I insist on trying it on immediately.

"It'd look better with trousers," Hermione says, looking me over critically. "But the color's lovely on you. I don't suppose you can take it with you?"

Even if I could squeeze my Harris-self into it, I'd freeze to death in a silk shirt at Durmstrang. "Better not," I say regretfully, taking it off and folding it. "You can look after it for me, and when I come home we'll get dressed up and go someplace nice to celebrate, yeah?"

"When you come home," Hermione repeats, taking the shirt from me and re-folding it properly. "Have you any idea when - I mean, I know it's important, what you're doing - but - "

"It might be a bit longer," I say guardedly. At the rate things are progressing, I'm not sure if I'm going to get out of Durmstrang before the school year ends, but I can't bring myself to say so. I cast about for a change of subject. "How was dinner?" I ask, trying (and failing) to keep the longing from my voice. "Did Mum make something really good?"

Hermione looks amused. "Are you hungry?" she asks. "I could go downstairs and fetch you something."

I hate having her leave me, even for a few minutes, but the lure is too strong. "Mind no one hears you," I say, leaning back against the pillows.

She's back in minutes with the best meal I've eaten since I left England. "You're getting much too thin," Hermione says, leaning over to help herself from my plate. "Even if you don't like the food in - wherever you are - you really ought to eat more."

That's a first - I don't recall Hermione ever telling me to eat _more_. "So are you too thin," I answer, pouring us each a glass of wine. "Just because I'm not around is no reason not to eat a proper meal."

"I do eat," Hermione says defensively. "I just don't seem to have much appetite."

For a second we glare at each other. Then we both burst out laughing. I set the empty plate aside and gather her into my arms. "Tell me what you've been doing," I say. "I know about the Wolfsbane - I managed to get hold of an old copy of _The Quibbler_."

"You don't know half of it," Hermione answers.

It turns out there was quite a bit that didn't make it into print. "I don't like this," I tell her. "Look, Hermione, maybe you ought to close up the flat and go live with Harry and Ginny till I get back."

"It's silly to pay rent when no one's living there," Hermione protests.

"Then give it up," I say. I've got enough going on without having to worry about Lucius Malfoy being out to get Hermione. And anyway, it's not like the flat's _nice_. It's cheap and there's quite a good chip shop nearby, but that's about all I can say for it.

"Well… I'll think about it," Hermione says.

I've only got about a half hour left and I don't want to spend it arguing. "Do it for me," I say, and then I kiss her before she has a chance to answer.

**Hermione**

I cried myself to sleep after Ron left last night, but I feel better this morning. At least I know he's all right - and he promised me that he's not in any real danger. Of course, he might just have said that so I wouldn't worry, but somehow I think it's true. Ron's never been able to lie to me. Anyway, I was positive he was at Durmstrang the minute I saw that fur cloak. I remember Viktor letting me try his on once - it was so heavy I could scarcely stand up. Protecting the half-blood students at Durmstrang is probably uncomfortable, but he's hardly in danger of losing his life.

Bolstered by that thought, I choose my brightest red jumper in honor of Christmas. I tuck the sapphire pendant carefully underneath. Ron said not to show it to anyone, but I like knowing it's there.

It's late morning. Breakfast must have been over some time ago, but Molly's still busy in the kitchen. I can hear her talking to someone as I push the door open.

" - tried to bring her Christmas presents in, but the door was locked," she's saying in a low, worried voice. "I do hope she's all right."

Oh dear. I expect she means me. I feel a sudden chill, realizing how close Ron and I came to being caught last night.

"Good morning," I say briskly, opening the door the rest of the way. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, Hermione, dear," Molly says, trying to look as though she hadn't been talking about me.

Ginny looks up and smiles at me. "We thought you were going to sleep through Christmas!" she says cheerfully, pouring me a cup of tea.

"Sorry," I say. "I didn't realize how late it was."

"Nonsense, dear, you could do with a good sleep," Molly says firmly. "_And_ a proper meal. Now, what would you like for breakfast?"

I don't really want anything after my midnight feast, but I don't quite dare to say so. "Scrambled eggs?" I say meekly.

Molly nods approvingly and turns back to the stove. "Where's Harry?" I ask Ginny.

"Outside with my brothers," answers Ginny. "They're building a snow-wizard. It's supposed to be for Victoire, but Fleur took her inside half an hour ago and none of them noticed."

I manage a half-smile, just as Molly sets a plate in front of me. "Ginny, I need you to peel these potatoes for me," Molly says, brushing off my thanks. She peers into the larder, frowning. "I was sure there was more of this chicken left."

_That was me and Ron,_ I think guiltily, trying to remember what else we ate.

"Well, you don't need it today, surely?" Ginny asks, shrugging. "I thought we were having roast beef."

Molly ignores this. "I don't see that half-bottle of red wine, either," she says.

Oh dear. That was us, too.

"Bill and Charlie probably sat up late and drank it," Ginny says carelessly, flicking her wand at the potatoes. She's a bit overenthusiastic, and one goes rolling onto the floor.

"I'll get it," I say, leaning over. My necklace slips out from underneath my jumper as I rescue the potato. I quickly tuck it back in, but Ginny's sharp eyes have already spotted the glint of gold.

"Hermione, what's that?" she demands. "Let me see!"

I'm too late to stop her as she carefully lifts the chain and examines the stone. "It's lovely," Ginny says. "Where'd you get it?" She looks up as someone enters the room. "Harry, come see Hermione's necklace," she says. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

Harry gives me an odd look. "Yeah," he says. "Where'd you get it, Hermione?"

"Mum and Dad sent it to me for Christmas," I say hastily.

"Someone's going to have to fetch another bottle of the red before dinner," Molly's saying, oblivious.

"I'll go," I offer, seizing the chance to escape. But Harry's close on my heels as I go into the tiny storage room beside the kitchen.

_"Muffliato,"_ he says grimly and then turns to me. "All right, Hermione - where is he?"

"I don't know what you mean," I say, but I can tell by his face that he knows.

"Ron showed me that necklace right before he left," Harry says. "I know he never had a chance to give it to you - which means you've seen him since then. Where is he, Hermione?"

"Gone," I admit. "He left before daylight." Too late I realize that I should have said an owl brought me the necklace - but Harry knows me too well to be fooled so easily.

"Ron's a damned fool," Harry says furiously. "He could have jeopardized everything. If Gawain were to find out, he'd be sacked from the Aurors, I can tell you that much."

"Gawain's not going to find out," I say. "Because I'm not going to tell him - and neither are you, I hope." I lay a hand on his arm. "Don't be angry with Ron, Harry. We were missing each other so terribly. And it's Christmas, so - " I break off in confusion. I very nearly added, _"so no one's at Durmstrang now, anyway."_

Harry's face softens. "I know it's been hard on you," he answers. "You've been great, Hermione - I don't think I could do half so well in your place. But Ron - well, it's not just Gawain we're worried about."

"Who, then?" I ask, before I can stop myself. "The Brotherhood of Blood?"

The color drains from Harry's face.

**Harry**

"I'm going to kill Ron," I say between my teeth. "Bad enough he's got to break his cover by sneaking in here to see you last night, but to let a civilian in on Auror dealings- "

"He didn't," Hermione protests. "He never told me a thing. And since when am I a _civilian_?" She glares at me. "Who helped you hunt down the Horcruxes? Who was the one to figure out that there was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets? Who - "

"All right," I say, waving a hand in surrender. "But this is different, Hermione. This is Auror business, and intelligent as you are, you're not an Auror. Ron had no right telling you anything."

"I told you, he didn't," Hermione says impatiently. "In fact, he was very careful not to let one word slip about where he's been or what he's been doing. I figured it all out myself."

I eye her suspiciously. She's the cleverest witch I know, but even she couldn't put all that together without a few hints. "How?" I demand.

"It was easy," Hermione says, and proceeds to outline for me just how easy it was. I stare at her, vaguely aware that my mouth's half-open but feeling powerless to close it.

"And then when I saw how thin Ron's gotten, I was positive he was at Durmstrang," she finishes. "Viktor always said the food there was dreadful, and you know how Ron is about eating anything foreign." She raises her eyebrows at me. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I can't speak for a moment. "What about the Brotherhood of Blood?" I manage after a minute or so. "Not that I'm saying there's anything in it, mind."

"Oh," Hermione answers. "Well, that was Luna, really."

_Please don't just have said that._ "Luna knows?" I croak.

"Don't be silly," Hermione says briskly. "Of course she doesn't. She thinks they're vampires - although after talking to Xeno, I wonder if she might have a point," she adds thoughtfully.

I feel slightly dizzy. "Hermione, swear to me you won't repeat a word of this to anyone," I say urgently.

"Of course I won't," Hermione says readily. "I wouldn't have said anything now, except that you asked me."

So I did. "And I also want you to promise me you won't do any more investigating," I say. "It's dangerous, Hermione. If someone starts wondering what you're up to, it could ruin the whole operation."

Hermione looks frightened. "I never thought of that," she admits. "Oh, Harry, you don't think I've put Ron in any danger, do you?"

"No, he's done that all on his own," I answer. But Hermione's expression makes me sorry I said it. "Don't worry, Hermione - I'm sure he'll be all right. But maybe you ought to move back into Grimmauld Place."

"We'll see," Hermione answers, deliberately vague. She leans past me and takes a bottle of wine from the shelf. "I'd better bring this to Molly - she'll be wondering."

As if on cue, we hear Molly's raised voice. "Hermione? If you can't find any red, white will do well enough!"

"I'm coming," Hermione answers. Pushing past me, she hurries back into the kitchen.

Left alone, I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. _That just goes to show you what happens when you try to keep Hermione out of things,_ I tell myself. But I can't help wondering. If she was able to figure it out so easily, will someone else be able to do the same?

**Ron**

I mix the final strand of hair into the flask of Polyjuice and choke it down. I can't even remember who I got this one from, although it doesn't taste nearly as bad as some of the others. A few minutes later, I have my answer. I'm now a boy of about nine, judging from what I can see of myself. I'm absolutely swimming in my Professor Harris robes, but it's only for a bit longer. I take another quick look around to make sure I'm not being observed - unlikely, since I seem to be in the middle of a howling blizzard - and then Disapparate.

I manage nicely, ending up just where I'd planned - the safe Apparition area for the chess tournament visitors. Or maybe not so nicely. A middle-aged witch is eying me suspiciously. I can't tell what she's saying, but I'm willing to bet it's Romanian for "aren't you too young to Apparate?" I smile at her, shrug, and hastily vanish into the crowd.

All I have to do now is find a safe place to wait until this last dose starts to wear off. Then I can change back into Harris again and rejoin the chess spectators. No one will ever know I was gone.

I pick my way through the tournament hall, pausing here and there to watch bits of various games. That man over there looks familiar, doesn't he? He almost looks like…

Bloody hell. It's Baranov. What the hell is he doing here? Looking for me, I'll bet. He's pretending to watch the tournament, but his eyes are scanning the crowd, pausing every time they reach a man of approximately Harris's build. They flicker over me without pausing, and I turn away quickly, looking for an escape route. I don't dare go back to the lodging house - he's likely already been there.

There's a pub across the street from the tournament - a bit crowded by the look of the crowd spilling onto the sidewalk, but it'll do. I start inside, only to be stopped in the doorway by what I guess is the barman. He says something totally incomprehensible, and I give him a blank look.

"Why can't I come in?" I ask.

"You are too young," a nearby witch explains helpfully. "Is not allowed for you to come inside."

"I don't want to _stay_ there," I say. "I just wanted to - er - use the bathroom." I give her a pleading look and jump up and down a little like I'm desperate. "Please - it's sort of an emergency. I don't think I can wait much longer."

The witch laughs and says something to the barman in Romanian. He hesitates, then suddenly smiles and waves me in. He calls something after me, but I reckon I'm just as well not knowing what he said.

There's no time to wait for the Polyjuice to wear off - I wouldn't put it past that barman to come looking for me if I'm not out in a reasonable amount of time. I lock myself in a cubicle and down the familiar-tasting Harris potion. I'm a bit worried about what sort of effect all of this is having on my system, but it's too late now.

Five minutes later, the bathroom mirror assures me that the Harris transformation is complete. I stroll casually back through the pub and make my way outside. No one - including the barman - gives me a second look.

And it's not a moment too soon. There's Baranov - and he's still looking for someone. Looking for me. I stop, deliberately letting him see me.

"Professor Baranov!" I say, managing to look surprised.

"Professor Harris," Baranov acknowledges, not acting surprised at all. "I vas hoping I vould see you here. I am sorry to be interrupting your holiday, but I haf a matter of great importance to discuss vith you. You vill allow me to buy you a drink, perhaps?"

Well, this ought to be interesting. "All right," I say, allowing him to lead me back into the pub.

It takes us a while to find a small table in the back, but once we're settled, Baranov doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get started. "I had a difficult time finding you, Professor," he remarks. It sounds casual enough, but I'll bet it isn't.

"There's a big crowd here," I say warily.

"Vere you at the tournament all day?" Baranov persists.

Careful, now… "Not _all_ day," I say.

"I asked at your lodging house, and they said you had not slept there last night," Baranov says. He watches me closely, eyes gleaming.

Lucky I didn't say I was there. "I ran into some old acquaintances last night," I say. "We had a few drinks, and well - you know what it's like trying to find your way round a strange city after a bottle of wine or two! I thought I'd better stay where I was." I think I've managed it pretty well, but you never know.

Baranov laughs, managing not to sound at all amused. "You stayed at their hotel?" he asks.

The next question's probably going to be "which one was it?", just so he can trap me.

"No, they had the loan of a flat from someone," I say. "I'm afraid I don't quite know where it was - I just Apparated directly to the tournament today." If he asks what my friends are called, I'll just make up some names - he can't catch me out that way.

He doesn't try, though. He just nods, apparently satisfied. But I can feel sweat trickling down my back. I came so close to blowing this whole thing. If he'd caught up with me any earlier and managed to track me to the Burrow…

"You said you needed to talk to me about something," I say, before my nerves can get the better of me.

Baranov looks startled for a second but recovers nicely. "I vished to ask you more about your classes at Hogvarts," he says. "Tell me, please, vat else you know about this Divination."

Right - he had nothing better to do on Christmas Day than track me down to ask about Divination. Like he's got any intention of offering a useless class like that at Durmstrang. But I play along. "Well," I say. "I never studied it myself, but several of my friends did. As I recall, one of the first things they learn is dream interpretation."

I manage to bore Baranov into a near stupor by quoting as much from _Unfogging The Future_ as I can recall for the next several minutes. Hermione'd be proud of me, remembering so much from a textbook. (Or maybe not, seeing as it's Divination. And I only remember it so well because Harry and I spent so much time making fun of it.)

"Thank you," Baranov says at last, holding up a hand to stop me. "I think I am understanding it very vell now."

"I can tell you a lot more," I offer. "They read palms, too."

"That vill not be necessary," Baranov says hastily. He gets to his feet. "You vill be remaining for the rest of the tournament, Professor?"

"Oh, definitely," I assure him. "Are you staying on? I quite forgot to mention it, but the tarot cards - "

"I regret that I must be leaving," Baranov says. "My sister in Prague - vell, I vill delay you no longer, Professor! Enjoy the tournament!"

He can't get away from me fast enough. I allow myself a private smirk before I start to wonder. He was obviously checking up on me - but why? I can't think Rodney Harris has done anything to make him suspicious. Was he checking to see if I was really at the chess tournament - or was he just making sure I wouldn't be unexpectedly arriving at Durmstrang?

_Only one way to find out,_ I think. I finish my drink and make my way back to the lodging house to retrieve the rest of my things. Shame about the tournament, but I'm headed back to Durmstrang early.

**Harry**

Much to my relief, Gawain's back in his office two days after Christmas.

"I think the man in dark-green could be Simon Parkinson," I say without preamble.

Gawain looks like he hasn't even heard me. He barely glances up from the piece of parchment in his hand. "Gawain?" I say.

Gawain sets the parchment down. "A situation has developed," he says. "Harry, do you know where Hermione Weasley is at this moment?"

_Please don't have done anything stupid, Hermione._ "In Australia, visiting her parents," I say, hoping very much that I'm speaking the truth. "Why?"

"Because Jennings turned up dead last night," Gawain answers. "And according to the Muggle witness who saw him keel over on the street, he was still disguised as Ron when it happened."

I feel a cold chill. "Hermione - " I start.

"We need to find her," Gawain says. "Immediately."

**Hermione**

Mum and Dad don't question me too much about Ron's absence - mostly because they're full of their own news. They've arranged to go to a dentistry convention in New York. Neither of them has ever been to America, and Mum (typically) is in a flutter over the packing, while Dad (also typically) is taking it in stride.

"It's so far away from you," she says, looking at me anxiously.

"It's closer than Australia," I point out patiently. Dad winks at me.

"We're staying on for an extra two weeks after the convention," he says. "Why not come with us, Hermione?"

"It would be very educational for you," Mum puts in.

They still think I'm twelve. The idea's tempting, though. Not one Muggle in New York is likely to have ever heard of Hermione Granger Weasley - or even Harry Potter, for that matter. But there's my job - I'm sure I couldn't take that much time off. And what if Ron came home and I wasn't there? I'd never forgive myself.

"Is your passport up to date, darling?" Mum's asking.

"They don't use passports," Dad says. "Er, do you?"

Now they're both looking at me. "No," I say. "And it's terribly sweet of you, but I'm afraid I can't go. We're much too busy at work just now."

Work is something Mum and Dad can understand. They both nod, looking disappointed. "I suppose you wouldn't like to leave Ron for that long, anyway," Mum says, excusing me. "Of course, he'd be welcome to join us as well, if you think he could - er - manage in one of our hotels."

Her eyes go involuntarily from the microwave oven to the small television in the corner - both prior victims of Ron's. I can't help smiling.

"Ron can't get away just now, either," I say, truthfully enough. "And I wouldn't worry too much about what to bring, Mum. They've got excellent shops in New York."

"We can do a bit of shopping," Dad puts in. "I'll even carry the packages for you."

Mum looks pleased at this idea. "We'll bring home all sorts of souvenirs," she promises happily. "I do wish you had email, darling - Dad's got a digital camera now, and we could send you pictures."

I really don't have the strength to explain the magic versus technology problem again. "I'll see them when you come back," I promise. "When do you leave?"

"The second of January," Dad answers. "Not the most ideal travel day - the airport'll likely be packed with kids heading back to school after their holidays."

The airport - the trains - and the Floo Network. I can't help wondering when term starts up again at Durmstrang, and how Ron's going to get there.

"I think we'd better have a taxi - " Mum starts, breaking off in mid-sentence. "What's that silvery thing? Is that something of yours, Hermione?"

The "silvery thing" is forming itself into a stag. "Message to follow," it says in Harry's voice.

That means he wants me to hear it alone. A sharp wave of fear goes through me - is it something about Ron? - but I manage to smile calmly at Mum and Dad. "I won't be a minute," I say, hurrying out into the back yard.

**Harry**

"I'm alone," the silver otter says briefly in Hermione's voice before fading away.

I send a second Patronus directing her to stay where she is for now. "He's okay, don't worry," I add, flashing a guilty look in Gawain's direction.

He pretends not to have noticed. "One of us will need to fetch her and bring her to a safe house," he says. "I think it had better be you, Harry."

I knew he was going to say that. "Which of the houses do you reckon?" I ask resignedly. "I can tell you right now, she won't go without a fight. She's going to want to come in to work every day, and - "

"She can't," Gawain says briskly. "It's up to you to make her understand that. In any case, it's merely a precautionary measure. I don't expect it to be more than a day or two - just till we're certain she isn't being targeted."

Gawain doesn't know Hermione nearly as well as I do. "There's more," I say. "I didn't have a chance to tell you yet, but she's figured out quite a bit on her own."

Gawain eyes me. "What, precisely, do you mean by 'a bit'?" he demands. "And how did she come by this knowledge?"

"I really think you'd better talk to her yourself," I say.

Gawain sighs. "Fine," he says. "Bring her straight here - and mind you use that Cloak of yours. No one is to see her."

"I'll go straight away," I say, getting to my feet.

"Don't be too long," Gawain cautions. "Viktor Krum is due here for another report, and you'll have to see him for me. I must return to Bucharest immediately."

I stare at him in consternation. "But, Hermione - " I start.

"I'll only be a few hours," Gawain says. He's already reaching for his cloak. "I assume you're capable of controlling her for that long?"

He doesn't wait for an answer - which is just as well, because he wouldn't have liked mine.

**Hermione**

I stand indecisively in the back yard, wondering if I ought to go inside or not. Harry made it sound as though I was in danger, so perhaps I ought to. On the other hand -

"Hermione," Harry's voice says from right beside me, and I jump nearly a foot.

"Why are you under that Cloak?" I demand, when I've got my breath back. "What's going on, Harry?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Harry says in a low voice. "Only Gawain needs you at the Ministry straight away. Can you leave without upsetting your parents?"

"I - I guess so," I say, confused. "Harry, it's not Ron, is it?"

"I told you, he's fine," Harry says. "Look, Hermione, I don't mean to rush you, but - "

"Okay," I say quickly. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Mum and Dad are disappointed, but I explain that an emergency's come up at work. "Have a wonderful time in New York," I say, kissing them goodbye. "No, don't come outside with me - it fusses me when people watch me Disapparate."

Harry doesn't waste any time in throwing the Cloak over me. "I'll take us," he says, grabbing my arm. "Try to stay hidden, and don't make a sound, whatever you do."

It occurs to me belatedly that I ought to have tested him in some way to make sure he's really Harry, but it's too late. We're going.

We arrive in the Atrium of the Ministry. Harry steers me toward the stairs when I start toward the lift.

"There," he says at last, locking Gawain's office door behind us. "I'm sorry I couldn't explain, but - "

There's a knock at the door. "Damn, that'll be Krum," Harry says. "Hermione, could you possibly stay hidden under the Cloak for just a bit longer? I'll try to get rid of him as fast as I can - he hasn't anything to tell us, anyway."

_Krum?_ Viktor's working with them? That explains what he was doing in the Ministry that night. I drag one of Gawain's office chairs into the corner and pull the Invisibility Cloak over myself.

Harry's greeting Viktor in the doorway. Now he's showing him to a chair. "Sorry Gawain couldn't be here," he apologizes. "He was - er - unexpectedly called away."

Viktor shrugs. "In any case, I regret that I haf little to tell you," he answers. "As you know, the past two Qvidditch matches haf been canceled, so I haf been unable to contact our friend Mr. Harris."

Harris? Who on earth is Harris? And what has Quidditch got to do with all this?

"We expected as much," Harry's saying. "But you saw to it that Baranov got invited to the Bulgarian League's Christmas party, didn't you?"

Baranov… Viktor's mentioned him. He's the current headmaster at Durmstrang, isn't he?

"I did," Viktor says. "And I made a point of speaking to him. He vas very eager to talk to me about my visit to Hogvarts."

Even Harry looks surprised. "Why?" he asks blankly.

Viktor shrugs again. "Some mad idea he is having," he says. "He is thinking they should offer more classes at Durmstrang, and he vishes to know vat I think of this Divination."

His expression's so disgusted that I have a hard time not laughing. Viktor's opinion of Divination is the same as mine.

"Was that all?" Harry asks, looking disappointed.

Viktor nods. "But surely it vill not snow for the next match," he says hopefully. "And if it does - vell, perhaps ve think of something else."

"We'll have to," Harry says, evidently not sharing Viktor's optimism. "Right, well, thanks for coming by, Krum."

I can scarcely wait for the door to shut behind him. "Explain," I demand.

Harry takes a deep breath. "You've heard Ron was supposed to be in South America?" he starts.

I nod. "Everyone's heard that," I say. "It was one of the reasons I was sure he wasn't there."

Harry looks at the floor. "Everyone was supposed to hear it," he says. "We sent a decoy to Brazil. He was using Polyjuice… no one knew it wasn't Ron - but the thing is - well, there's no other way to say this. You're going to have to go into hiding, Hermione."

I stare at him. "He's dead, isn't it?" I whisper, managing to process what he hasn't said. "The decoy?"

"Yeah," Harry says, finally meeting my eyes.

**Harry**

I'm relieved when Gawain comes in a short time later. He immediately begins grilling Hermione on what she's learned so far. Gawain doesn't show it, but I can tell he's as appalled as I am at how easily she managed to put things together.

"I don't think anyone else would ever guess," Hermione says anxiously, trying to reassure both of us. "It's just that I know Ron so well - and I never thought of Durmstrang at all until Luna put it into my head."

"Ah, yes," Gawain says. "And Miss Lovegood is where?"

"Looking for a Crumpled-Horned Snorkack," Hermione says helpfully. "It's some sort of expedition."

Gawain throws me a questioning look, and I manage to keep a straight face. "Don't ask," I say. "As far as we're concerned, it just means she's not likely to say anything to anyone for quite a while."

"Very well," Gawain says, disposing of the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. "Now, Hermione, what are we going to do with you?"

"What about my parents?" Hermione asks tensely. "Can we have someone watch over them? They won't be in Australia - they're going to a dentistry convention in New York."

"I doubt very much if your parents are in any danger whatsoever," Gawain assures her. "Howver, if it would make you feel better, I'd be happy to speak to my contacts in the American and Australian Auror Departments."

Hermione looks relieved. "There's no reason for me to go into hiding just yet, is there?" she asks. "I mean, I hate to miss so much work, and - "

I throw Gawain an "I told you so" look.

"I shall speak to the Minister on your behalf," Gawain says, not getting it. "I'm sure he will understand."

"I really don't think it's necessary," Hermione says firmly. "After all the trouble you took to make everyone think Ron and I had split up, no one's likely to try to get to him through me. Anyway, they think he's dead."

That's sort of a good point. I look questioningly at Gawain.

"It's merely a precaution," Gawain says soothingly.

I suddenly realize why he's being so insistent. He's not so much afraid that someone's after Hermione because of Ron - he's afraid someone may have noticed what she's been up to.

"But I don't want to be locked up in some safe house worrying," Hermione objects, clearly not getting it at all. "I've got a much better idea."

**Ron**

Durmstrang's as cold and uncomfortable as Dorika warned me it would be - and as far as I can tell, there's no one here but me. Which suits me just fine, actually. It means I can do a bit of exploring.

I manage to make it to my quarters without running into anyone. I've no intention of letting anyone know I've come back - not until I've had a chance to get a good look round. I covered my tracks at the boarding house in Constanta by telling the landlady I'd been invited to stay with friends for the rest of the tournament. She was a bit put out until I offered to pay for the room for the whole week. After that she couldn't have been nicer - she even pointed me toward a shop where I could buy some food to take with me. I told her I wanted to bring a gift to the friends who were putting me up - but actually I was looking for supplies to get me through the rest of the week. There wasn't exactly a huge selection (and it was bloody expensive, for what it was), but I still reckon I'll eat better than I have since I came to Durmstrang.

I'm tempted to let myself slip back into my Ron-self for my explorations - Ron's in much better shape than Harris if I have to make a run for it - but it'll be easier to explain myself as Harris if I'm caught. Which I don't intend to be. I might not be the best Auror in the Department, but one thing I've perfected is my Disillusionment Charms.

I take a reluctant swig of Polyjuice and Disillusion myself. The place to start is Kirilov's rooms. He'll have them locked up, of course, but I reckon I can get in all right. My lock-breaking charms aren't half-bad, either.

I make my way to Kirilov's classroom. It's unlocked, but the door leading to his office and private quarters isn't. I've just pulled out my wand when I hear footsteps approaching.

Even though no one can see me (I hope), I take the precaution of ducking down behind the teacher's desk. The footsteps pass me - thankfully without stopping. A second later, I hear the door to Kirilov's office open. I look round just in time to see the edge of a blood-red robe disappearing around the edge of the door - which then shuts firmly. There's a clicking sound as the door locks.

Who the bloody hell was that? I wonder. Kirilov, returning early - or someone else who wanted to get in there as badly as I do?

In any case, I'm obviously not going to get in there now. It's Plan B, then. Trying not to make any noise, I cautiously exit the room and make my way toward the Ancient Runes classroom. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Ron**

I spent the week between Christmas and New Year's searching the entire bloody castle - the parts I could get into, anyway - without finding a damned thing. Bloody Kirilov spent the whole time tucked up in his rooms so I couldn't get in - but he didn't seem to be up to anything that I could see. Maybe he didn't have anywhere else to go. I did manage to have a look round Etilka's quarters, but the only interesting thing I learned is that she wears the same shoe size as Harry. I didn't even know they made women's shoes that big - she probably has to do an Engorging Charm on them or something. Baranov had some sort of charm on his office that I couldn't break, and I was afraid to try too hard in case he'd got an alarm set to warn him if someone went in.

All in all, I'm actually glad when it's time for classes to start up again. At least there'll be someone to talk to. I've quite missed the kids, especially Anya.

The teachers are due back the day before the kids. I'm afraid Etilka's going to be the first one to arrive, but luckily it's Dorika. I'm quite pleased when she invites me to have tea in her office, and even more pleased when she sets out a plate of little cakes. I've been living off bread and cheese all week, and even a Durmstrang dinner is starting to sound good.

"How vas the chess tournament?" Dorika asks.

"Very exciting," I say, hoping that it was. "I saw Professor Baranov there."

Dorika looks surprised. "Really?" she says. "Usually he is going to visit his sister in Prague. I vonder…" She looks at me thoughtfully.

"He said he wanted to ask me more about Divination," I say. I wait for her to say that's ridiculous, but instead she nods.

"Ah!" she says, her face clearing. "That is making more sense."

"It is?" I ask, helping myself to another cake.

"You are not hearing yet?" Dorika says. "Ve are to offer Divination classes this term."

I stare at her, appalled. "Surely not," I say. "Who's going to teach it? Not Baranov?"

Dorika laughs. "I am thinking it vould be out of Sergei's element," she says. "No, he has hired a new teacher - a French voman."

Bloody hell - all we need to make this place even more uncomfortable is a French version of Trelawney floating about predicting doom. "Maybe she won't stay," I say hopefully.

"You are very naughty," Dorika says, wagging a finger at me. "But I must confess I am hoping the same thing."

We laugh together, but a thought suddenly strikes me. What if this so-called Divination teacher is another Brotherhood accomplice? I'll have to investigate her, even if it means having my palm read. The things I do for the Aurors…

"Is she here yet?" I ask.

"That I am not knowing," Dorika answers. "But the students vill return tomorrow. Surely she vill arrive by then."

**Hermione**

It took me ages to talk them into it. Harry wasn't terribly difficult to convince, but Gawain doesn't know me nearly as well. But in the end he came round, and he actually got quite enthusiastic about the whole plan.

I feel a bit guilty as I enter the Ministry. My preparations have taken so long that I haven't been in to work for nearly two weeks. Gawain said he'd spoken to Kingsley - in the strictest confidence, naturally - and that everything was all arranged. Still, I hope I won't run into any of my co-workers.

That particular hope is dashed seconds after I enter the Atrium. Even though I've taken the precaution of arriving well after regular business hours, Basil's just stepping out of the lift. Maybe if I keep behind this pillar he won't see me…

"Hermione?" Basil says.

Damn. "Hello, Basil," I say.

"Hermione, where on earth have you been?" Basil looks cross, and I can't exactly blame him. I'd promised to do all that research for him and then just disappeared.

"Sorry," I say, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm taking a bit of time off."

"Why?" Basil demands. "Can't you take your holidays some other time?"

"It's not exactly a holiday," I say. "It's a leave of absence. I'm going through some - er - personal issues at the moment."

"Never stopped you before," Basil says. He brightens. "I hope this means you've decided to give Weasley the push. This boy-and-girl romance stuff is all very well when you're at school, Hermione, but you ought to be thinking about your career. A woman of your intelligence with the _right_ partner could have a very bright future at the Ministry."

Honestly. Doesn't he ever give up? "I'd rather not discuss it," I say coldly. "I'm sorry, Basil, but I have an appointment."

I start past him, but he catches my arm and the book I'd tucked under my arm slides to the floor.

"_Accio!_" Basil says before I can stop him. "What's this, Hermione? _A Wizarding Guide to New York_ … what do you want with that?" His eyes narrow. "Is that where your leave of absence is going to be spent?"

"Of course not," I say crossly. "I'm just dropping it off for a friend. I've never even been to America."

"If you _were_ going, I'd advise you to give New York a miss and visit the American Ministry of Magic in Salem," Basil says. "That's where all the really _important_ American wizards are." He watches me closely for a minute and then adds, "but since you say you're not going to America…"

"The important American wizards will have to do without me," I say. "I've really got to go, Basil. I'm sorry I haven't finished that research you wanted."

I hold out my hand for the book and he gives it to me - rather reluctantly. "Never mind about the research," he says with a sigh. "We can look into it when you come back."

I wait for him to leave before pushing the lift button. I wouldn't put it past him to follow me.

"Sorry," I say breathlessly to Gawain and Harry a few minutes later. "I'm ready to go now."

Gawain eyes the book in my hand. "I trust everything went according to plan?" he asks.

"Perfectly," I say. There's no need to go into details.

Harry waves his wand at the trunk, already packed and ready for me. "You're quite sure about this, Hermione?" he asks.

I smile at him. "Yes, Harry," I say. "I'm quite sure."

Gawain opens a desk drawer and pulls out an empty wine bottle. "This is your first Portkey," he tells me. "You know how to proceed from here."

"Do you want to go over it all one more time?" Harry asks, sounding slightly anxious.

"No," I say, watching as Gawain taps the wine bottle with his wand. "And instead of worrying about me, Harry, you'd be much better off trying to find out who that wizard in the dark-green robes is!"

"Didn't I tell you?" Harry asks, just as I reach for the now-glowing bottle. "He's Simon Parkinson." He grins at my astonished expression. "Good luck, Hermione!"

I start to answer, but it's too late. Harry and the office have disappeared.

**Harry**

Gawain picks up the bottle - no longer glowing - and drops it into the rubbish bin. Then he just sits there.

"Sorry," I say, when I can't stand the silence any longer. "I guess I should have asked you before I mentioned Simon."

"What?" Gawain says. "Oh, that. I don't expect it matters. I think it's more than likely that given time, Hermione would have worked that out on her own as well." He looks almost amused as he says this.

"Yeah," I say. "She's always been a bit like that."

Gawain Summons a traveling case from a cupboard and sets it on the desk in front of him. "Viktor Krum will continue to act as the liaison between you and Weasley," he says. "I've instructed him to make his reports to you while I am away. I've told him I'll be on holiday for the next few weeks - naturally I did not disclose my destination to him."

He hasn't disclosed it to me, either. "You never take holidays," I say. "Are you going back to Bucharest?"

"There… and perhaps a few other places as well," Gawain says, purposefully vague. He sees my expression and adds, "You cannot be forced to disclose information that you do not have, Harry."

It's one of his favorite sayings - and another point on which we disagree. Personally I think it's better to have at least one other person know where you are, just in case of trouble. But Gawain's Head of the Auror Department, and I'm not, so I don't bother arguing. "Will I be able to get in touch with you?" I ask instead.

"I think not," Gawain says.

Right. Well, that's just… "So who's in charge?" I ask.

Gawain looks at me.

"You know, who's going to set the assignments and authorize things, and all that?" I clarify. Gawain's never been out of touch for more than a few days that I can recall.

"Well," Gawain says slowly. "I rather think you will, Harry."

I stare at him. "What?" I manage after a minute.

"You will be in charge during my absence," Gawain says. He opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out a thick roll of parchment. "Here is the current status of all ongoing investigations. I suggest that you read it over now and ask any questions that you might have."

I unroll the parchment with internal misgivings - it looks long enough to be one of Hermione's old homework assignments - but I'm relieved to see that I'm already familiar with most of the contents.

"I would advise leaving everyone to carry on just as they are for the time being," Gawain says. "Persimmon can help you if there are any scheduling conflicts." He gets to his feet. "Have you any questions before I leave?"

"No," I say numbly, even though I have a feeling I might regret it later. "Gawain, are you sure - "

"That you're ready for this? Oh, yes," Gawain says calmly. He gives me his rare smile. "After all, Harry, I have been grooming you for this position ever since you joined the Aurors as a trainee."

**Ron**

The new Divination teacher still hasn't turned up by the end of the first week of classes, and I allow myself to hope that she's changed her mind. I don't dare ask Baranov for fear he'll make me substitute for her.

January drags on slowly, interrupted only by several blizzards and the worst cold I've ever had in my life. If I wasn't terrified of Madam Irina, I'd go and ask her for some Pepperup Potion, but I'm afraid she might poison me. Most of the students seem to feel the same way, judging by the coughing and sniffling going on in all of my classes.

I'm in no mood to be sociable, so I'm less than pleased to see a new face at the staff table this morning. This must be the new Divination teacher. I look inquiringly at Dorika, who nods unenthusiastically.

Baranov makes up for the pair of us, though. I haven't seen him so excited since - well, ever. "Good morning, good morning!" he says, beaming at all of us. "This is Professor Delphine Dumont, our new divination teacher!"

He goes round the table and introduces us one by one. _"Bon jour," _Professor Dumont says to each of us.

I peer at her, trying to get a better look, but she's so bundled up with shawls that I can scarcely see her face - most of which is covered with a huge pair of tinted spectacles like Trewlawney's. It must be a requirement for Divination teachers. She's got a shawl wrapped round her head as well, but what I can see of her hair looks to be sort of greyish-blonde. Not young, then - I reckon she won't stick it out here for long.

Baranov's talking to her again - sounds like French.

"Please," I hear Professor Dumont saying. "I weesh to improve my Eenglish."

Bloody hell - I hope she doesn't decide to practice on me. I look determinedly at the floor.

The food - if you want to call it that - arrives. Professor Dumont looks appalled when she sees what's on her plate, and I have to look away so I don't laugh. Fleur's always going on about how much better French food is (even though I don't see it myself), so I can only imagine what Dumont's thinking. She covers quickly, smiling determinedly at Baranov and reaching for a slice of charred toast. She's wearing so many rings and bracelets that I'm amazed she can lift her hands at all.

Now Baranov's rising to make an announcement. He doesn't usually say anything to the kids at all, and they all stop eating to stare at him in astonishment.

He speaks in Bulgarian, so I ignore him, concentrating on choking down my vile porridge as quickly as possible so I can get out of here. One good thing about having a cold - I can barely taste the food.

Baranov sits down, and I suddenly notice that the old bloke who teaches History of the Magical World is glaring at him. "What?" I whisper to Dorika.

"He has just told them that anyvun who vishes to exchange History of the Magical Vorld for Divination may do so," Dorika whispers back. "I am thinking it vill be a popular choice - at least vith the girls."

I'd sort of wondered how they were going to squeeze in another class. No wonder old what's-his-name looks annoyed.

Delphine Dumont turns her tinted spectacles in my direction. Oh no. "Bye," I say hastily to Dorika, shoving my chair back at the same time. I hurry past the staff table without looking in Dumont's direction, but the effect is spoiled when I sneeze loudly just as I'm passing her chair.

"You are ill?" Professor Dumont asks, peering up at me. Madam Irina immediately turns to look at me, too. I don't quite like the look on her face.

"Just a bit of dust," I lie. I start to turn away; then hesitate. There's something weirdly familiar about her. "Have we met before?" I hear myself asking.

Professor Dumont looks me over. "I theenk not," she says disdainfully. Fleur couldn't have done it better.

_You're not exactly veela material yourself,_ I think, but I don't bother replying. Anyway, she wouldn't have met Harris - she'd have met Ron. There's no need to worry about her blowing my cover. Likely she just looks familiar because she reminds me of Trelawney.

The day seems even longer than most Mondays. I dismiss my last class twenty minutes early, feeling unable to cope with our mutual colds any longer. Alone, I dig hopefully through the Potions kit I brought with me, hoping to be able to concoct my own Pepperup Potion, but I haven't a clue what's in it. Hermione always makes it for me at home. If she were here, she'd never let me suffer like this.

Well, there's no one to fuss over me here. I decide to skip dinner - no great loss, that - and have an early night. I can make myself a cup of tea and let my Harris disguise wear off and get into bed with a stack of _Chess Monthlies_. That ought to send me off in no time.

I'm just putting on my dressing gown when I hear a knock at the door. Swearing under my breath, I go to open it. I'll have to get rid of whoever it is in a hurry - my last dose of Polyjuice has only got about ten more minutes left.

I _really_ feel like swearing when I see who it is. "Good evening, Professor 'Arris," Delphine Dumont says. "My Eener Eye tells me you are in need of zees Pepperup Potion, and so I 'ave brought you some." She pulls a flask out of a heavily-embroidered bag and holds it out to me.

Nobody'd need an Inner Eye to figure out I've got a cold - especially since I sneezed all over her this morning - but it was quite nice of her, wasn't it? I feel slightly more kindly disposed toward her - at least until she carries on talking.

"After your Potion, we weel 'ave tea, and then I weel read zee tea leaves for you," she says brightly.

Not even for Pepperup Potion. "This really isn't a good time," I say. "Maybe another night would be - "

She's already pushing past me. Bloody hell, she's a forward one, isn't she? I can't stop her from entering unless I give her a good shove (a tempting thought, believe me). "My Eener Eye tells me eet _must _be tonight," she says dramatically.

"Yeah," I say. "Well, the thing is - " I break off, startled, as she locks the door behind her. "Hang on," I say. "What do you mean by doing th- "

Delphine Dumont does the wand motion for what I'd swear is _Muffliato_ (only it can't be) before touching the wand to her own throat. "For heaven's sake, drink the Potion, Ron," she says in Hermione's voice. "Honestly, don't you know what to do for a cold at your age?"

**Harry**

Kreacher eyes the cat carrier and owl cage apprehensively. "Kreacher's master has new pets?" he asks, not sounding terribly enthusiastic.

"Not exactly," I say. Crookshanks is letting out some unearthly-sounding yowls in his carrier, so I unlatch the door and let him out.

"Why, it's Crookshanks!" Ginny says, appearing in the door to the sitting room. She holds out a hand to him coaxingly, but he glares at all of us and scurries away.

"You might have better luck with Pig," I say. I kiss her, managing to hand off the owl cage at the same time.

"Does this mean Hermione's finally giving in?" Ginny asks, opening the cage door. Pig darts out and immediately begins swooping around our heads.

I have to raise my voice to be heard over the racket Pig's making. "Not exactly," I say for the second time. "She's going away for a bit and asked if we'd look after Crookshanks and Pig for her."

Ginny's not as easily put off as Kreacher. "Going where?" she demands. "Please tell me she's not chasing after Ron."

"Shameful way to treat a lovely lady like Miss Hermione," Kreacher says chidingly to the empty cat carrier.

"Kreacher, will you bring us some fresh tea, please?" Ginny says hastily.

I wait for him to shuffle away before answering. "She's going to spend a bit of time with her mum and dad," I say evasively. I trust Ginny, but it's all I'm allowed to say.

"It'll do her good to get away," Ginny says. "And it's lovely and hot in Australia this time of year."

"Mmm," I say noncommittally. I see no reason to mention that it's going to be anything but hot where Hermione's going. "Mind you don't say anything about where she is. She doesn't want anyone to - er - bother her."

"That Basil Sedgewick's got a bit of a thing for her," Ginny says knowingly. "It's all over the Ministry."

I stare at her. "How do you know all the gossip when you don't even work there?"

"Gwenog hears it all when she goes in for meetings with Magical Games and Sports," Ginny answers, looking pleased with herself. "She says Sedgewick's a prat."

He is, rather. I'd wondered a bit if we ought to keep an eye on him, but Hermione says he's harmless. "Hermione's not the only one going away," I say. "Gawain's finally taking a holiday - and he's left me in charge."

Ginny flings her arms around my neck. "Harry, that's wonderful!" she exclaims. "You mustn't worry - I know you'll do a brilliant job."

_I wish I thought so._ "Gawain seems to think it'll be all right," I say, a little doubtfully. "He said he's been grooming me to take over ever since I started with the Aurors."

"Well, everyone knows you'll be Head of the Auror Department one day," Ginny says matter-of-factly. "'Ever since you started' isn't exactly accurate, though, when you consider he spent most of the first year trying to get rid of you."

"If you put it to Gawain like that, he'd say he was testing me," I say, grinning at her.

Ginny laughs. "He probably would," she agrees. "What's it going to mean for you, though? Are you still going to carry on with what you've been doing?"

"Some of it," I answer. "I expect there'll be a lot more paperwork and things, but I want to handle Draco Malfoy myself - and I'd like to be the one to catch Simon Parkinson."

"You will," Ginny says. It's amazing how much confidence she has in me sometimes.

"Bit sudden, this holiday, isn't it?" she's saying now. She gives me a knowing look.

She doesn't miss much, either. "Er," I say. "Yeah, well - "

"Maybe he had to go away for his health," Ginny says, helping me out.

"Yeah," I say gratefully. "That's probably the reason."

**Hermione**

Ron/Harris stares at me, frozen with shock. "Who are - " he gets out after a minute. "How did - "

I smile at him. "It's really me," I say.

I hold out the flask again, and he takes it, but eyes it suspiciously as though he suspects I might be trying to poison him. "_Prove_ it's really you," he says.

I reach for the thin gold chain, carefully tucked under my robes. "Here," I say, showing him my engagement ring hanging next to the sapphire pendant. "And here." I remove the large moonstone ring covering my wedding band.

"Anyone could have those," Ron says stubbornly. "All they'd have to do is steal them."

Honestly. "Ask me a question, then," I say with a sigh.

Ron considers for a moment. "Er… what was I wearing the first time we met?" he says.

What? "How on earth should am I supposed to remember _that_?" I say. "Jeans or something, I suppose. I know we didn't change into our school robes until just before we got to Hogsmeade, because you and Harry used that as an excuse to get rid of me." Even now, I feel slightly irritated by this. "I _do_ remember that your face was dirty," I say triumphantly.

Ron flushes slightly. "I don't remember what I was wearing, either," he confesses. "Maybe I'd better ask you something else."

I wait. This ought to be good. But I feel my irritation vanish when he speaks.

"What did I leave for you when I had to go away?" he asks.

I have to blink back tears before I answer. "A rose," I say softly. "I've still got the petals."

Ron's eyes widen. "Hermione," he whispers. "It's really you."

About time. He reaches for me, but I sidestep neatly.

"Drink your Pepperup Potion first," I say firmly. "I love you more than life itself, but Professor Harris with a bad cold is a bit more than I'm prepared to take on."

With any luck, the Pepperup will hurry the Polyjuice along a bit. I notice with relief that his hair's already starting to turn red.

"You're not exactly disguised as a tearing beauty yourself," Ron says, tipping the flask toward his mouth. "Who's Delphine Dumont, anyway?"

"No one," I say. "I invented her." I pull off the tinted spectacles and touch my wand to each of my features in turn, removing the disguise. It'll be a bother putting it back before I leave, but I've had lots of practice over the past week. I smile at him. "There, have I got it right?"

"All but the hair," Ron says, setting the empty flask aside. "Make your hair normal."

"Normal," I say touching my wand rather reluctantly to the ash-blonde twist at the back of my neck, "is not the word I'd ever use for my hair." Hairpins shower to the floor as my hair bursts out of the knot. It's going to be an absolute nightmare to put back.

But Ron gives a satisfied nod. "Much better," he says approvingly through the cloud of steam that's currently enveloping him. "Hermione, what are you doing here? How did you find me? Harry must've told you, because I know Gawain wouldn't - "

"How long have you known me?" I demand. "I figured it out myself, of course."

Ron looks stunned. "You mean no one knows you're here?"

Goodness, he looks pale. "Maybe you'd better sit down," I say anxiously.

Ron drops down on the sofa, looking as though his legs won't hold him up anymore. "You can't possibly stay here," he says. "It's not safe, Hermione - and if Gawain ever found out - "

"Gawain _knows_, idiot," I say impatiently. "He's been helping me learn French all week - although I'm afraid I'm not terribly good at it. We decided I'd better just say I wanted to practice my English."

Ron appears to be at a loss for words. "_Gawain_ helped you?" he repeats after a moment.

"You'll understand everything once I've explained," I say reassuringly. "I'll make us some tea, shall I, and I've got some of those ginger biscuits you like in my bag."

Ron says nothing, but I notice as I turn away that he's already rooting through my bag in search of the biscuits. "You needn't think you're going to get round me with food," he says warningly.

"That would sound a good deal more effective if you weren't talking with your mouth full," I say over my shoulder. I pour out two cups and sit down next to him, noticing with relief that the transformation's complete. Ron automatically slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

"My cold's better," he says. "Give me a kiss - a proper one."

"We really do need to talk," I say breathlessly, several minutes later. "I can't stay in here more than an hour without it looking suspicious, and - "

"Never mind talking," Ron says. "We can talk afterwards." He's already unwinding my top layer of shawls. "How many of these bloody things are you wearing, anyway?"

"All I could lay my hands on," I say. "I've never been so cold in my life."

"If you were staying, you ought to order a fur cloak," Ron says. "I'd have died of frostbite without mine."

I pull away, glaring at him. "What do you mean, _if_?" I demand. "I told you, Gawain and Harry both know I'm here."

"Well, they ought to have had better sense," Ron says obstinately. "It's too dangerous for you here."

I feel a sudden weariness at the thought of having to convince someone - _again_ - that this is where I need to be. I can't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes.

"Ah, don't," Ron says uncomfortably. "Look, Hermione, I really do wish it was different. I'd love having you here, only - oh, come here!"

He wraps both arms around me, and I bury my face in his shoulder. "Was it really that bad without me?" Ron asks after a minute.

"It was horrible," I say into his neck. "Rita Skeeter writing things about us, and people like Lavender saying things… but that wasn't the worst part. It just - it wasn't any _fun_ without you!"

It wasn't at all what I'd meant to say, but Ron seems to understand. "Yeah," he says. "I've been miserable without you as well."

"Well, then I really ought to stay," I say. "Anyway, it isn't safe to send me anywhere else. Gawain wanted me to go into hiding, you know." Under the circumstances, I feel justified in not mentioning that it was only for a day or two.

"Why?" Ron asks sharply. "What happened?"

I tell him about Jennings. "He was disguised as you when he was killed," I finish. "But obviously the spell wore off when he died - so unless whoever killed him didn't bother to stay around for a look, they've got to know he wasn't you."

It seems to me that this last sentence was a bit jumbled, but Ron has no trouble sorting it out. "Any witnesses?" he asks.

"A Muggle on his way home from working the late shift," I answer. "Gawain wiped his memory after he questioned him, obviously, but he really didn't know much anyway. He didn't see anyone around - he thought Jennings had suffered a heart attack or something."

Ron's silent for a long minute. "So they reckoned you'd be safer with me," he says at last.

"_I_ reckoned," I correct him. "And once Gawain knew how much I'd figured out on my own, he couldn't help but agree with me."

Ron sighs. "I'd have liked to see Gawain's face," he says absently. His arms tighten around me. "It's going to be brilliant having you around," he says. "Think there'd be talk if the Divination teacher and the Chess teacher shacked up together?"

**Harry**

More to get my mind off what's happening at Durmstrang than anything else, I decide to visit St. Mungo's the next morning. The wizard with the dark-green robes hasn't been around, according to our hospital informants, but I reckon I might be able learn something about him if I chat up a few people.

As it happens, I never get the opportunity. "I need your signature on all of these," Persimmon says, dropping a huge sheaf of parchment on my desk. "And O'Connor and Jackson want to trade shifts tomorrow - you'll need to sign off on it. Oh, and the Minister would like to see you at half-past three if you can spare the time."

Like I'm going to say no to Kingsley. "Right," I say, picking up my quill and looking unenthusiastically at the stack of parchment. "Did he say what it was about?"

"Not to me," Persimmon answers. "I'll take those whenever you've finished with them."

I have to fight the urge to beg her to stay and help me. But most of the memos turn out to be rather routine things. It's not till I'm halfway through the stack that I come across something that makes me stop and look twice.

"Finished already?" Persimmon says brightly, seeing me heading toward her desk.

"Not exactly," I say. I look around and lower my voice before adding, "Do you know anything about this?"

Persimmon glances at the parchment in my hand. "It's a standard notification of permanent leave," she says. "Perdita already gave her notice to Gawain informally, but the Ministry needs us to complete the form so there's a record."

"Right," I say. "I'm not signing it."

Persimmon looks flustered. "You've got to," she protests. "We can't keep her on the payroll if she's quit."

"I'm not accepting her notice," I say stubbornly. "She's too good to quit - we need her."

Persimmon sighs. "I know we all miss Perdita," she says. "But it's her decision, Harry."

"She's not thinking straight, then," I say.

"She's having a baby," Persimmon says. "Maybe she doesn't want to be an Auror anymore. I've known several who've decided the work's too dangerous - men as well as women."

"Not Perdita," I say.

Persimmon looks, if possible, even more flustered. "What am I supposed to tell Wizard Resources?" she asks. "We've already listed a vacancy in the Department."

"Tell them to speak to me," I say, hoping inwardly that it won't come to that. They're bound to make me fill out more forms.

"Right," Persimmon says doubtfully. "And what about Perdita?"

"She's going to have to speak to me, too," I say, making up my mind. "Have you got her home address?"

**Ron**

It makes all the difference, having Hermione here. All of a sudden I feel as though all of the things I hated about Durmstrang - the weather, the cold, the horrible food - are just minor annoyances. Now that I've got Hermione, I almost feel as though I wouldn't mind having to stay here till the end of the school year. The best part - well, okay, the _second-best_ part - is that I finally have someone to talk things over with. With the two of us working together, I'm sure we can get to the bottom of what's going on here.

I couldn't talk her into staying longer than an hour last night ("What would it look like, Ron? I'm sure I'm being watched."), but we've got it all worked out. Professor Dumont is going to flirt outrageously with Professor Harris - who will resist for a while and then give in. Who knows - Professor Harris might even end up proposing. He's been a widower for a bloody long time, after all.

Hermione's claim that she was being watched is proven to be true almost immediately. Etilka and Kirilov catch up with me as I'm on my way to my first class.

"The Divination professor visited you last night," Etilka says abruptly.

_Good morning to you, too, Etilka - and thanks for spying. It always makes me feel like I'm so special to both of you._ "She said she had to read the tea leaves for me," I say, pretending annoyance. "It took me nearly an hour to get rid of her."

"She read them for Ivan as vell," Kirilov says, looking grimly amused. "She told him he would fall in love vithin a month. The poor man has been afraid to come out of his rooms ever since."

Poor Ivan. That explains why he wasn't at breakfast.

Etilka's eying me. "And vat did she tell you?" she asks.

"Lot of rubbish, really," I say with a shrug. "I don't put much stock in Divination." I can't help being impressed with Hermione's forethought. Her visit to me doesn't look so odd if she goes round reading tea leaves for all the staff.

Etilka frowns. "Ve must make sure this voman does not become a nuisance," she says. "If she vere proven to have a true talent, she could be dangerous."

"Oh, she hasn't any talent at all," I say, suddenly frightened for Hermione. I don't like the look on Etilka's face. "She definitely didn't tell me anything that was even close to being right. Anyway, I don't believe in Divination."

"There are some true Seers," Etilka says.

"Well, Dumont's not one of them," I say firmly.

"I also think it is nonsense," Kirilov says. "Think about it, Etilka - if this voman can predict the future, then vhy is she not rich?"

"Exactly," I say, astonished to find myself agreeing with Kirilov about something. "She ought to be rolling in gold."

Etilka looks half-convinced. "She vears many jewels, but they are not of good quality," she says slowly.

Amazing what women notice, isn't it? "Well, there you are," I say. "That proves she's rubbish at predictions."

"I vill make a prediction of my own," Kirilov says, smirking. "I predict that Sergei vill tire of this little experiment by the end of the term."

"I hope that you are right," Etilka says doubtfully. "But in the meantime, it does not hurt to be on our guard."

Kirilov leans closer. "Your lessons vith Grigor and the others are going vell?" he asks.

Not exactly. Grigor's managed to forget the little he learned over the holidays, so we're essentially starting over. "Well enough," I say carefully. I don't want to tell Kirilov his favorite student is an idiot, but I will if I have to.

"Perhaps you should give them extra lessons in the evenings," Etilka suggests.

_Shut up, Etilka. My evenings are all booked up from now on._ "I don't think that's necessary," I say hastily.

"_Bonjour,_ Professor 'Arris!" Hermione calls, waving at me from the landing.

Kirilov smirks again. "Our Divination teacher seems to have taken a fancy to you, Professor," he says.

I wave back weakly and look down at my watch. "Better hurry - class is about to start," I say, even though it isn't. I hurry away in the opposite direction, hearing their laughter behind me.

**Hermione**

I never fancied myself as a teacher, but if I had, Divination would have been the last subject I'd have chosen. I think I'd do quite well with Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes, or even Transfiguration, but this… well, it's just ridiculous.

Harry had laughed outright when I'd first proposed it. "You didn't even make it through the first year, Hermione!" he'd said. "Do you even remember anything we did in class?"

"I remember it was a lot of nonsense," I'd answered. "I suppose I'm just as capable of making up predictions as you and Ron were."

Even Gawain had smiled at that. But his face had turned serious again immediately afterward. "What you are proposing is impossible," he said.

It wasn't, of course. And it was perfect timing, with Mum and Dad planning that trip to New York. I hadn't counted on running into Basil - I meant to "accidentally" leave the guidebook on my desk in the Ministry - but it turned out to be even better that way. He's such a gossip that the entire Department of Magical Law will think I'm in New York by now.

I wanted to leave straight away, but Gawain insisted on putting me into hiding in a safe house for a week of preparation. I spent it studying Divination, practicing my disguise, and attempting to learn French. It's easy enough to copy Fleur's accent (and attitude), but the language itself proved to be a bit more difficult. I can read it fairly well by now, but I can only speak it rather slowly.

"You had it a lot harder than I did," Ron said when I told him the story. "At least I already knew how to play chess."

"I'd have learned Mermish if I had to," I'd answered, snuggling closer to him.

All things considered, we didn't exactly do much talking last night. Fortunately, Gawain and Harry were able to fill me in on a great deal of the background, but Ron was the only one who could tell me what had transpired since Halloween.

"Watch out for Etilka Varga and Kirilov," he warned me. "And Baranov, obviously. Actually, you'd better be careful what you say to anyone besides me. And if you don't want to get in trouble with Baranov, don't be too nice to the half-blood kids - at least, not while anyone's watching."

"Harry told me you were teaching them Defense," I'd said.

Ron looked alarmed. "He didn't say that in front of Gawain, did he?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Just me," I assured him. "And can I just say that I think you're wonderful?"

"Anybody would've done the same," Ron said, embarrassed but pleased.

I'm thinking of Ron's Defense group now, as my first class files in. I had yesterday off, since we had to wait to find out how many students would abandon History of the Magical World in favor of Divination. Quite a few, judging by the group of third-years eying me nervously.

I can't blame them for feeling a bit apprehensive. I've deliberately patterned my classroom after Professor Trelawney's (although without the incense - it always makes me want to sneeze) and several of them are looking uncertainly at the pillows on the floor as though unsure whether or not they're actually meant for sitting on.

"Sit, sit, _s'il vous plait_," I say, trying to make my voice sound mysterious. "Welcome to zee study of Divination. 'Ere you will learn if you 'ave zee power to See - or if you are doomed to remain unenlightened."

**Harry**

Perdita looks less than pleased to see me. "What do you want, Harry?" she says, a bit ungraciously. "I've already told Gawain my decision's final."

"I haven't come here to try and change your mind," I lie. "I just need your signature on some forms. Wizard Resources, you know."

Perdita rolls her eyes. "Them and their bloody forms," she says. "All right - I suppose you'd better come in."

I look around the flat curiously. I've never been here before, but Ron has and he always said it was a nice place. "The sort of place Hermione and I would like, if we didn't want to get the hell out of London," was how he'd put it.

I'll have to take his word for it, because I can barely see two feet in front of me. "Why have you got all the draperies closed?" I ask. "It's nice and sunny out for once." I move toward a window, but Perdita turns quickly, arm upraised.

"Don't!" she hisses. "I don't want anyone to be able to see in."

I stare at her - or try to. "Mind if I put a light on, then?" I ask. Perdita doesn't answer, but she doesn't try to stop me when I pull out my wand and point it at the nearest lamp.

We blink at each other in the sudden brightness. "Who do you think is trying to see in?" I ask carefully. I can't help wondering if she's starting to lose it a little. Maybe she got Confunded a few times too many or something.

"Jeremy, of course," Perdita says, like I'm an idiot. "He's been watching me ever since he got back to London." She claps her hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean to tell you that!"

"He can't have been watching you," I say reasonably. "_We've_ been watching _him_, and I can guarantee he hasn't been anywhere near you."

Perdita looks at me silently. I try a different tack. "Perdita, why didn't you - "

"Say something?" Perdita finishes for me. "Because no one would have believed me. You don't believe me now."

"I do believe you," I say, realizing as I say it that I'm telling the truth. "I just can't figure out how he's doing it - unless you lot are triplets instead of twins?"

"Thank Merlin we're not!" Perdita says, sounding like herself for the first time. "One brother like Jeremy is enough. I don't know how he's doing it, either. He's not around all the time, and he never tries to speak to me. But it's been happening for months. I'd look up - maybe when I was out shopping or just walking down a corridor at the Ministry - and there he'd be. If I moved toward him, he ran away or Disapparated. He never does it when Marvin or anyone else is with me, just when I'm alone. So I stopped going out…" She stops speaking abruptly. "You must think I've gone mad," she says after a moment. "I _sound_ mad, even to myself."

"I don't think you're mad," I say, even though I was considering it a few minutes ago. "What do you think he wants from you?"

"I've been trying to work that out," Perdita answers, sounding relieved. "I thought at first it was just more of the same - he was always jealous of me when we were kids - but now I think he wants something else." She looks down at the carpet for a moment before adding, "You know what my family is, don't you, Harry?"

The Gamps were Voldemort supporters - all but Perdita. "We already know he's involved with Lucius Malfoy and a few other former Death Eaters," I say, careful not to mention the Brotherhood of Blood. "But where do you come in?"

"I'm an Auror," Perdita answers. She finally meets my eyes. "And I'm Ron Weasley's partner. And he's your best mate, Harry."

It takes me a minute to process this. "You think he was going to try and get to me through Ron?" I ask.

"It didn't have to be you," Perdita says. "Ron would have done well enough. Or Hermione, for that matter. That's why I had to be so horrible to both of them - so they'd stay away from me." She gives me a rueful smile. "Poor Hermione - I said some dreadful things to her. I hope she'll forgive me when she knows the reason for it."

"I'm sure she will," I say, thinking to myself that Perdita's not likely to run into Ron or Hermione for the next several months in any case.

"It wasn't as though I believed any of that rubbish about Ron leaving her," Perdita says. "Mind, you and Gawain were quite right not to tell me anything about what he's really up to. I can't be trusted - not now that Jeremy's back."

"It's not that we didn't trust you - " I say awkwardly, but what's she saying is pretty much word-for-word what Gawain told me.

Perdita shakes her head. "No, and you mustn't trust me now," she says firmly. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt any of you for the world, but if it came to a choice between you lot and Marvin- or my baby - " Her voice trails off as she folds her arms protectively around her midsection.

"What does Marvin think about all this?" I ask. _And why hasn't he said anything?_

"I didn't tell him for ages," Perdita admits. "I kept hoping I was just imagining things - or that Jeremy would give up and go away. Only he didn't… so I finally broke down and told Marvin the whole story. He was horrified - he'd been worried about me for months. But now he sees that there's only one thing to do."

"And that is?" I prompt, hoping it's going to be something sensible.

"He's trying to get a transfer to a different hospital," Perdita answers. "I think Jeremy will leave us alone if he knows we're not in contact with anyone from the Aurors. He hasn't bothered about me for years, after all." She sees my expression and adds, "I know it's not a perfect solution, Harry, but it's not just about me anymore. I've got to think of my baby."

"I understand," I say. There are a million possible solutions whirling around in my head, but Perdita's pregnancy is definitely complicating things. Like she said, it's not just her anymore. And then suddenly I know what to do.

"The Aurors can hide you and Marvin better than you could ever hide yourselves," I say. "We can make arrangements for you to go immediately. And in the meantime - would you be up for one final assignment?" 

**Harry**

"See you at home, darling," the man in Healer robes says cheerfully. He kisses the woman next to him on the cheek and disappears inside of the plate-glass window.

The young witch - obviously pregnant - peers dubiously out into the dark night. Pulling her cloak over her blonde hair, she steps out into the street. She glances nervously over her shoulder before ducking into a nearby alley. Its proximity to the hospital makes it a popular Apparition point, but tonight she's the only one there.

He appears almost instantly from behind a rubbish bin. He says nothing; only watching her intently.

"What do you want, Jeremy?" she whispers.

He makes no answer. The witch starts toward him, but he vanishes immediately. She waits a few minutes, but he's gone.

"How the hell did he manage that?" I demand, pulling the Invisibility Cloak back. "I didn't even hear him Disapparate."

"He didn't," Perdita says, a little shakily.

Marvin rejoins us. "All right, love?" he asks, sliding a protective arm around Perdita's shoulder. He looks at me. "He didn't say anything to her, did he?"

I shake my head. "He never said anything at all - just appeared and then vanished." I look guiltily at Perdita. "Sorry," I say awkwardly.

I hadn't meant to ask her to do this - I was going to use Polyjuice - but we couldn't find any record of a man who'd ever turned himself into a pregnant woman and we weren't quite sure what the effects would be. Perdita insisted on doing it herself, as long as I stayed right next to her. (For the record, I wasn't exactly disappointed. I don't mind being the first to try new things, but you've got to know where to draw the line.)

"I'm fine," she assures me now. "Anyway, he wasn't actually here."

I stare at her. "What's that supposed to mean? I saw him."

"Didn't you notice?" Perdita says. "The moon was shining into the alley, but he didn't cast a shadow. And he didn't make any noise when he moved. And he didn't Disapparate - he just sort of faded away."

I couldn't have seen a shadow anyway from where I was, but she's right about the other things. I reckon he could have used a Silencing Charm, but…

Marvin's looking confused. "Do you mean it was like a hologram or something?" he asks.

"A what?" Perdita asks. "Is that some sort of spell?"

"It's a Muggle thing," I say. "Something to do with films, isn't it?"

Marvin nods. "It'd explain everything, wouldn't it?" he says eagerly. "The way he keeps appearing and disappearing without anyone else seeing him - "

"You're forgetting who you're talking about," Perdita interrupts. "Jeremy's the last person who'd ever use a Muggle technique - even if he knew how. He'd consider it beneath him."

She's got a point there. "Maybe there's a spell that acts in the same way," I offer.

"Have you ever heard of a spell that does that?" Marvin asks doubtfully.

"Well, no," I admit. "But - "

"Doesn't mean there isn't one," Perdita says, helping me out. "Come to think of it, a spell like that would be awfully convenient." She looks thoughtful. "I suppose we could research it." She grins at me. "Or you could just ask Hermione, like Ron always does."

Not exactly possible at the moment. "Gawain's got a lot of books," I say. "I'll have a look and see if I can find anything."

Perdita gives me a puzzled look, but fortunately says nothing.

"You don't suppose it was his ghost we saw, do you?" Marvin's asking.

That's the one thing I'm sure it wasn't. "Don't ask me how he did it, but I'll bet you anything you like that Hathaway reports that Jeremy never left the Black Pearl tonight," I say. I look at my watch. "It's getting late - we'd better arrange for you two to disappear."

"I've changed my mind," Perdita says calmly.

Marvin and I exchange glances. "Er, what?" I ask. "I thought you wanted to get away."

Perdita shakes her head. "Not anymore," she says resolutely. "If Jeremy thinks he can frighten me into hiding just because he used a holi - holo - "

"Hologram," I say. "Only it wasn't."

"Whatever it was, it's not going to work," Perdita says. Now she looks angry. "Jeremy's doing the same thing he always did - trying to separate me from the people and places that are most important to me. Well, this time I'm not giving in! And I'm not quitting the Aurors, either!" She turns the glare on me. "If you've turned in those forms to Wizard Resources already, you can just get them back."

"I tore them up," I say quickly. "I never wanted you to quit - and neither did Gawain."

"Where is Gawain, anyway?" Perdita asks curiously. "I'd have thought he'd want to be in on something like this."

"He's… away on holiday," I say cautiously.

Perdita looks stunned. "He never takes holidays," she protests. "Who's in charge, then?"

"I am," I admit. I hope Perdita takes it better than some of the other Aurors did. Most of them were okay with it, but a few of the ones who've been there for years were muttering things about seniority and favoritism.

"Brilliant," Perdita says promptly.

I grin at her, relieved. "Glad you think so," I say. "I hope you're also going to agree with what I say next. I'd like you to let your resignation stand - for now."

Perdita's mouth drops open. "Only officially," I add quickly. "Unofficially, you're still part of the team. I just don't want anyone to know it."

"I think that's a good idea," Marvin says promptly. I've always thought it must be hard to be married to an Auror, but it must be twice as bad when she's expecting a baby.

"Okay," Perdita says after a minute. "What do you want me to do?"

**Ron**

I can't resist asking Anya what she thinks of Divination.

Anya looks uncomfortable. "I am sure it is very interesting," she says politely. "But I am thinking that maybe I am vhat Professor Dumont is calling unen - unlight - "

"Unenlightened?" I offer with a grin.

Anya grins back. "You must keep it very secret, Professor, but all I am thinking vhen I look in the cup is that the tea vould taste better if there vere not all of those lumps in it," she says apologetically.

I can't help laughing. "Have you shared this opinion with Professor Dumont?" I ask. I'm planning to share it with her myself at the earliest opportunity.

"Of course not," Anya says, shocked. "It vould be hurting her feelings, vould it not? And I am liking Professor Dumont. She believes many things vhich seem to me very silly, but I am probably not gifted vith the Sight."

"Do all the kids like her?" I ask.

Anya nods. "Maybe not Boris," she says after a minute. "Professor Dumont gave him a detention vhen he stole my teacup and broke it."

Well, good for Hermione. I just hope Boris doesn't make any trouble for her.

"She is kind to all of the half-bloods," Anya's saying. "Already she is telling Juliska that she is the most talented student she has ever had!"

Bloody hell. I _told_ Hermione…

"She vill never be saying that to me," Anya concludes gloomily. "Vell, I must be going, Professor. I vill see you tomorrow." She hesitates in the doorway. "Kristov and the others vere asking me, Professor…"

We haven't had a Defense class since before the holidays. "I know what you're going to ask," I say. "We've just got to be careful." I think for a minute. "I think maybe you, Kristov, and a few others are going to get in trouble tomorrow," I say, grinning at her. "Likely you'll all have detention."

Anya grins back. "I promise I vill behave very badly in class," she says cheerfully. "Goodbye, Professor!"

The smile fades from my face as she leaves. The one thing I told Hermione not to do was to show any favoritism to the half-bloods.

"It's nothing to worry about," Hermione insists when I confront her about it later.

"That's what you think," I say. "Baranov had me in his office the first day just because I let Anya be a queen in chess. What do you think he's going to say when he finds out you said Juliska was the most talented student you'd ever seen?" Mind, that's not exactly saying much when you consider that Hermione's had exactly one day of teaching experience, but Baranov doesn't know that.

"He already knows," Hermione says calmly. "He invited me to his office for a drink after my last class." She finishes taking her disguise off and settles down on the sofa, patting the place beside her invitingly.

I stare at her. "What?"

"I explained to him that the Inner Eye does not discriminate," Hermione says. "And that many of our most gifted Seers have been half-bloods."

I wish I'd thought to say that about chess. "Have they?" I ask, dropping down beside her.

Hermione shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me," she says vaguely. "Anyway, he was all right with it after that - especially when I told him Juliska had identified a very wealthy and successful wizard in her cup and that I was sure it meant him."

Trust Hermione to know how to manage Baranov. "Did he give you a glass of schnapps?" I ask, grinning. Hermione's not much of a drinker - I'll bet it about took the top of her head off.

"No, some really lovely wine," Hermione answers. "What's schnapps?"

"Nothing you'd like," I assure her. I reckon Baranov saves the wine for his female visitors.

"You know I think it's all nonsense of course. But this Juliska…" Hermione says, still obviously thinking about Divination.

"I have her for Chess," I say. "Not what you'd call clever, but she's a nice kid." I see Hermione's expression. "Oh, go on," I say, half-laughing. "Don't tell me she made a real prediction."

"I don't know," Hermione says slowly. "I - oh, never mind! We've got more important things to talk about." She opens her bag and pulls something out, handing it to me.

I'm hoping for more ginger biscuits, but wouldn't you know, it's a book. And it's not even in English. "How long have we got to be married before you remember I can't read Runes?" I ask, handing it back.

"I know you can't read it," Hermione says. "But I thought it might look familiar."

"It doesn't," I say promptly, but it sort of does. It makes me think of a graveyard - and a ghost. "Barty Crouch's journal!" I say. "We still had that?"

Hermione nods. "I meant to turn it in to Gawain," she says guiltily. "I can't think how I could have forgotten."

"We went on our honeymoon straight after that," I point out. "Even _you_ weren't thinking about books then!"

"I found it when I was going through some of the boxes we'd packed," Hermione says. "And I started to look through it - and - well, I think I'd better just read it to you."

All of it? It looks bloody long. "All right," I say, stretching out and resting my head on her lap. "Let's have it." If I close my eyes, it's almost like we're back in the flat. Except that this sofa is a lot more comfortable than any piece of furniture we've ever owned.

"Don't you dare go to sleep," Hermione says sternly.

"I wasn't," I lie, forcing my eyes open.

But when she reads the first paragraph, all thoughts of sleep disappear.

**Hermione**

I set Barty Crouch's journal aside and look at Ron. "Well?" I say.

"We knew Voldemort was trying to recruit vampires," he says slowly. "Only there wasn't any evidence that he'd succeeded."

"Until now," I say. I'm unable to repress a shudder at the idea. "Just think how awful it would have been if they'd shown up at the Battle of Hogwarts. They can't be killed - or can they?"

"They can if you know how," Ron says, as though he knows - although I'll bet he doesn't. "And Barty doesn't say Voldemort was successful - he just says he was trying."

"This Paianjen - " I stumble over the unfamiliar word. I'm astonished when Ron corrects my pronounciation.

"Anya told me about him," he explains. "It means 'spider'. Nice sort of name for a vampire, isn't it?" Now it's his turn to shudder.

I stroke his hair comfortingly. "I had your Anya in class today," I say. "I'm not sure she was terribly impressed with Divination."

"She wasn't," Ron says. "She thought the tea would have tasted better if you'd strained it first."

I can't help laughing. "I quite liked her," I admit. "It's a shame the way the half-bloods are treated here. I wish we could send them all to Hogwarts."

"So do I, but getting rid of some of the staff here would be just as good," Ron says. "Read that bit about Paianjen again."

I open the book. _"Emissaries of the Dark Lord have met with the vampire Paianjen, and report that he is well-disposed to our cause,"_ I read. _"If all goes well, he will join us when the time is right."_ I look up. "These emissaries… I wonder if he used his Death Eaters, or - "

"Or the Brotherhood of Blood," Ron finishes for me. "Are you sure there's nothing else about it in the journal?"

I shake my head. "He goes on for pages about how much he hates his father, but there's nothing really useful," I say. I can't help feeling annoyed with Barty Crouch for that, even though I know he was terribly unhappy. "If he was going to bother writing about these emissaries at all, he might have put down their names."

"Maybe he didn't know them," Ron says. "That'd make it more likely they were from this part of the world." Now he's looking at my bag. "Are you sure you haven't got anything to eat in there?"

Honestly. "I ordered some food from a French supplier," I say. "It should be here soon. Really, Baranov ought to be ashamed to serve meals like that dinner we had tonight."

"He liked it," Ron points out. "He had three helpings." He doesn't look thrilled about it being a _French_ supplier, but Delphine Dumont wouldn't be likely to place an order for English food.

"I ordered a fur cloak, too," I tell him. "That nice Dorika helped me. It was awfully kind of her, especially since I showed up in her office unannounced and insisted on reading the tarot cards for her." Even now, I feel guilty about that, but she was very polite about it.

Ron laughs. "Dorika's tough - she can take it," he says. "I hope you predicted something nice for her."

"I tried," I say doubtfully. "I couldn't remember what some of them meant, so I just made things up. I don't think she noticed, though."

"Actually, it's better if you're not very good," Ron says. "Etilka Varga believes in Seers - she thinks you could be a threat."

That's easily fixed. "I'll visit her next," I say. "A few wildly inaccurate predictions should put her fears to rest."

"Tell her she's irresistible and that lots of men are going to fall in love with her," Ron says, grinning. "And you might tell Kirilov he shows a real aptitude for tolerance."

"All the same, I'd better be careful around them," I say. "That Kirilov's a bit scary."

"I'll look after you," Ron says, sitting up and pulling me onto his lap.

"The sooner we can figure things out, the sooner we can both get out of here," I point out. "Maybe we ought to make a list of what we know so far."

"I knew that one was coming," Ron says resignedly. "Let's get it over with."

**Harry**

Perdita's first undercover assignment is to try and track down the man in the dark-green robes. "It's perfect, since I'm at St. Mungo's all the time anyway," she said. "The Healer insists on seeing me every week."

"I'm there all the time, too," Marvin had pointed out. "I can keep an eye out for him."

Gawain wouldn't have approved - Marvin, after all, is a "civilian" - but I'd thanked him and agreed. "Don't try to speak to him or detain him," I'd warned both of them. "Just send me a Patronus straight away, and try to keep him in sight till I get there."

"Who is he, Harry?" Perdita had asked curiously.

I couldn't resist. "Simon Parkinson," I'd said. "Maybe."

With Perdita and Marvin on the lookout for Simon, I can concentrate on other things. Jeremy Gamp, for instance. The only problem is, I'm not quite sure what my next move ought to be. The logical solution would be to find some way to infiltrate his little group, but they're far too suspicious of strangers for me to be able to do it in any of the usual ways. Gamp wouldn't be likely to accept anyone but a known quantity - and it's not like there are loads of former Death Eaters hanging about waiting to go undercover for the Ministry. Draco Malfoy's still my best bet, except for the fact that he's displayed a complete lack of interest in helping me out. I haven't anything else to hold over his head - and anyway, I'd rather not risk it. Once he finds out Lucius could get caught - and believe me, I mean to catch him this time...

"Are you ready to go?" Ginny asks, interrupting my thoughts. She sighs when she sees I'm still in my work robes. "Harry, we're supposed to be meeting Neville and Hannah for dinner in less than ten minutes! Why haven't you changed yet?"

"Sorry," I say guiltily, getting to my feet. "I won't be a minute."

I'm not what you'd call high-maintenance, so we're on time after all. Not that Neville and Hannah would have noticed. They announced their engagement at Christmas, and their upcoming wedding is the only thing on both of their minds. Hannah immediately pulls out a magazine and begins leafing through it to show Ginny the dresses she's considering.

I catch Neville's eye. "Just learn to live with it," I advise. "It only lasts a few months, and it's worth it in the end."

Neville gives me his anxious smile. "I don't mind, exactly, but I don't think I'm much help," he confesses. "All the dresses look sort of the same to me - and I don't understand about color schemes, either. Why have we got to have one?"

Hannah overhears him and rolls her eyes. "You're hopeless," she says affectionately. "We can't begin to decide on anything until we've chosen the colors."

"Anything but green is all right with me," Neville says. "It reminds me too much of Slytherin."

"Speaking of Slytherin, I heard something rather interesting about Malfoy today," Hannah says, setting the magazine aside and leaning forward. "Apparently - " She breaks off as the waiter arrives with our drinks.

"Apparently what?" I ask, the second he's gone.

"What?" Hannah asks, her eyes drifting toward the magazine again. "Oh, right - Malfoy! Astoria Greengrass's father has forbidden her to see him anymore. I overheard Mrs. Greengrass and Daphne talking about it when they had lunch in the Cauldron yesterday." She looks thoughtful. "They'd been to Winona's Wedding Wear - I could tell by the parcels. I wonder what Daphne's wedding dress is going to be like - not that I'd ask her; she's such a cow."

"Why won't Greengrass let his daughter go out with Malfoy?" I ask, trying to head her off before she gets started on Daphne's wedding. "He's a pureblood."

Hannah shrugs. "They didn't mention the reason," she answers. "Daphne said Astoria was terribly upset. I do feel sorry for her, mind - she's very sweet, even if she was a Slytherin."

"She can do better than Draco Malfoy," Ginny says, and the others nod in agreement. "Still, she ought to stand up for herself. She's of age, after all - she can date whoever she likes."

"Not if she wants to go on living in a mansion and having charge accounts at Gladrags and Madam Malkin's," Hannah says. "I don't suppose either of the Greengrass girls would ever consider working for a living."

"I can't think of any job Astoria'd be able to do, anyway," Ginny admits. "She might be sweet, but she barely scraped through with two OWLs."

The waiter interrupts again, bringing our food this time, and the conversation swings back to Neville and Hannah's wedding. I don't have to contribute anything but the occasional "yeah, that sounds nice," so my mind's free to wander. I don't know what sort of reason Horatio Greengrass gave to his daughter, but I'd be very interested in finding out.

I lose no time in posing the question to Malfoy when I catch him coming out of the Manor the next day.

"He said it was because he didn't think I could be considered a serious prospect," Malfoy says sulkily. "Because I haven't got a job - as though any of the Malfoys had ever had to work!" He glares at me. "I don't know why I'm telling _you_ all of this, Potter - it's none of your damned business!"

That can't possibly be the real reason - Horatio Greengrass doesn't work himself; why would he insist on it for his daughter's boyfriend? I have a feeling the real reason has to do with Lucius and his blemished reputation. Greengrass might not mind inviting it to dinner, but he's not about to let his daughter marry it. This is going to be easier than I thought. "You're right," I agree cheerfully. "Shame I'm the only person who might be able to help you, isn't it?"

Malfoy eyes me suspiciously. "How could you help me?" he demands. "Horatio Greengrass isn't interested in your opinion, Potter."

"I could find you a job at the Ministry," I say. "Of course, if you're not interested…" I half-turn, like I'm going to Disapparate.

"I never said I wasn't interested," Malfoy says hurriedly. "What sort of job? Not like that one I had before, mind!"

I stifle a laugh at the memory of Malfoy's brief tenure as a proofreader for broomstick manuals. "No, I think we can do better than that," I say. "What would you say to something in the Department of International Magical Cooperation?" I'm going to owe Percy a really big favor for this, but it's the best fit for what I'm hoping to accomplish.

Malfoy thinks about it. "That might be all right," he agrees after a moment. The suspicious look returns. "Why are you doing this, Potter?"

I decide total - or anyway, _partial_ - honesty is my best bet. "Because I need a favor in return," I say.

"Thought so," Malfoy says triumphantly. "This has got something to do with Jeremy, hasn't it?" His eyes narrow. "Don't expect me to carry on spying for you, Potter - no job's worth that. Anyway, Astoria hates him."

That shows Astoria's got good sense - or not, since she's apparently willing to date Malfoy. "I'll do my own spying," I say. "I just need you to keep your mouth shut - oh, and lend me the occasional bit of hair."

Malfoy takes a little convincing, but not as much as I'd feared. He must be really serious about Astoria. I leave with a few strands of his pale hair stowed carefully in my mokeskin bag - and Malfoy's promise that he'll be on his best behavior during his interview.

Now all I have to do is convince Percy. Compared to that, infiltrating the Brotherhood of Blood is going to be a walk in the park.

**Ron**

"I'm sure you know much more than you think you do," Hermione had said to me encouragingly last night.

But it turned out that I didn't. She had me go all the way back to the beginning and tell her everything that happened since I got here, but the only thing that really excited her was the news that I've been recruited to teach Grigor and his mates about Diagon Alley.

"But that's terribly important!" Hermione had said, sitting up straight and dropping her quill. "That means they're planning to come to London. Ron, we've got to tell someone!"

"Who?" I'd asked. "Krum hasn't been here in months. I don't dare send a message out of the castle - I'm sure they check everything. And it's not like Hogwarts - I can't pretend I'm just off to the pub or something. If I tried to leave the grounds, I'd be followed."

"If you tried to leave the grounds, you'd likely get lost in a blizzard," Hermione had said. "Doesn't it ever stop snowing here?"

"No," I'd answered. "The only thing I can think of is using my half of Harry's mirror, but Gawain made me promise I'd only use it for an emergency. I don't think this qualifies - not yet, anyway."

"Why did Gawain make you promise that?" Hermione had asked, frowning. "It would have made far more sense for you to give Harry a report every week than to have to wait for Viktor."

"I think he was afraid I'd talk Harry into letting me use it to see you," I'd admitted. "And you weren't supposed to know where I was."

"Gawain ought to have known you'd never do that," Hermione had said, but I don't know. I might have.

"Okay, your turn," I'd said, deciding it was a good time to change the subject. "Tell me everything that's happened on your end."

"We'd better leave it till tomorrow," Hermione had said, glancing at her watch. "And maybe you'd better come to my room this time. I think it'll look suspicious if I come to yours again."

Like it's not going to strike everyone in the castle as really weird if Harris suddenly decides to pop in on the Divination teacher. Which is why I went with the simple solution of using a Disillusionment Charm on myself. It has the added bonus of meaning I haven't got to disguise myself with Polyjuice - very important, since Hermione won't let me so much as kiss her when I'm being Harris. (I reckon if I can get past _her_ disguise, she ought to be able to get past _mine_, but that's Hermione for you.)

The plan goes without a hitch. The corridors outside both my room and Hermione's appear to be deserted, but I take the precaution of doing a quick _Homenum Revelio_ before opening either of our doors. Hermione left hers unlocked, just like we arranged, and all I have to do is walk in, lock the door behind me, and take off my Disillusionment Charm.

"I've got protective charms on this room already," Hermione says, watching me do a Soundproofing Charm. "You asked me that the first day, remember?"

"I don't trust the people here, in case you haven't noticed," I say. "Have they searched your quarters yet?"

Hermione nods. "I think so," she says. "A few things were out of place when I came back from lunch yesterday. But there's nothing for them to find except Barty Crouch's journal, and I keep that with me all the time."

"Better disguise the cover, just in case," I say. I look her over. "Aren't you going to take your disguise off? I did."

"_After_ we talk," Hermione says firmly.

Anybody'd think she didn't trust me, wouldn't they? "Fine," I say, pulling her in for a kiss anyway. What the hell, I can always shut my eyes.

"I don't see how you can when I look like this," Hermione says, but she doesn't put up any resistance.

"It just proves I'm not shallow like you," I say, grinning at her.

Hermione gives me an eye roll before sitting down on the end of her sofa. Hers is much nicer than mine - actually, the whole room is. I reckon the Divination teacher ranks higher than the Chess teacher in Baranov's book.

"Where'd we leave off last night?" I ask, sitting down next to her.

Hermione looks slightly embarrassed. "I can't believe I forgot to mention this," she says. "Only Harry never said a thing till the last minute and the Portkey took me away before I could ask him, and - "

I give her a "get on with it" look. "The wizard in the dark-green robes is Simon Parkinson," Hermione finishes in a rush.

_"What?"_ I say, feeling slightly dazed. "Is he sure? How does he know?"

"I told you, I never got a chance to ask," Hermione says. "But Harry said so himself."

"But he was _here_," I say, still processing the idea. "The dark-green bloke - you do mean the one who gave you a hard time at St. Mungo's, don't you?"

Hermione nods. "Ron, if Simon was here - "

A sharp knock at the door interrupts her. We exchange startled looks. Hardly anyone goes visiting after hours at Durmstrang - well, anyone besides the Divination teacher. It's so cold that most people just like to huddle up to their own fires in the evenings. I hastily put my Disillusionment Charm back on and move into the far corner of the room, crouching down behind a large chair.

Hermione goes to the door. "Why, Professor Varga," she says, managing somehow to sound pleased. "I am so 'appy that you 'ave come to visit me! Please, come inside and sit down by the fire."

Bloody hell - Etilka. This could be trouble.

"Thank you," Etilka's saying stiffly. "I vill not trouble you for long, Professor. I only vish to inquire if you vill perhaps make a prediction for me." She sits down on the edge of a chair and stares intently at Hermione.

"I can read zee tea leaves for you," Hermione offers. "Of course, you must first drink zee tea! Allow me to pour you a cup."

Etilka takes the cup, peering into it suspiciously like she thinks a prediction's going to jump out and bite her on the nose. After a minute, she takes a cautious sip. "Is very good," she says, sounding surprised.

That's because Hermione - unlike the Durmstrang house-elves - knows how to make proper tea. Etilka's probably never had any that didn't taste like dishwater before.

Hermione's watching her closely. "While we are drinking our tea, I can read your palm," she offers.

I smirk to myself. If there's one thing that ought to convince Etilka that the new Divination teacher is no threat, it's palm-reading. Hermione tried to practice it on me last night and she got all the lines mixed up. Even I knew more about it than she did.

Etilka extends a reluctant hand. "But this is _magnifique_!" Hermione says, looking excited. "Your love line, it is the longest I 'ave evair seen!" She smiles at Etilka. "You 'ave 'ad many lovairs, I theenk?"

I have to bury my face in the arm of the chair to keep from laughing.

_"No,"_ Etilka says, sounding offended.

"Ah, then you weel," Hermione assures her. "You must not feel discouraged, Mademoiselle! And these lines 'ere, this means you weel 'ave four - no, five children. You are fond of them, are you not?"

Etilka jerks her hand away. "Thank you, Professor," she says, getting to her feet. "That is all I vished to know."

"But we 'ave not read your tea leaves," Hermione protests.

"I have already heard everything I needed," Etilka says. "Good evening, Professor!"

I wait till Hermione's locked the door behind her before I come out from behind my chair and un-Disillusion myself. "That was brilliant," I say, grinning at her. "Poor Etilka - she sounded quite horrified at the thought, didn't she? What made you decide to read her palm?"

"I wanted a closer look at her hands," Hermione answers. "Or perhaps I should say _his_ hands."

I stare at her. "What?" I manage, not very brilliantly.

"Oh, come on, Ron, isn't it obvious?" Hermione says. "Etilka Varga's a man!"

**Hermione**

"Oh, go on, Hermione," Ron says, laughing incredulously. "I'll admit Etilka's not exactly attractive, but she can't be a _man_!"

"Why not?" I ask.

Ron stops laughing and looks puzzled. "Dunno," he admits after a minute. "I reckon maybe she could - only - "

"That was definitely a man's hand," I say firmly. "And have you noticed that she always wears a scarf? I'll bet that's to hide her throat."

"She could be wearing it because it's cold," Ron argues, but at least he's taking me seriously now. "She does have big hands, though… and big feet, too. I noticed that when I searched her rooms."

"It's a shame you didn't examine any of her personal things more closely," I say. I look at him hopefully. "I don't suppose you got a good look at her underthings?"

Ron looks appalled. "I was trying _not_ to look," he says. "I just sort of lifted the whole heap with my wand to make sure there wasn't anything hidden underneath." He frowns. "Maybe they could've been men's things."

"She walks like a man, too," I say, pushing my advantage. "And her voice is harsh - probably from disguising it all the time."

Ron's silent, considering. "Okay, say she _is_ a man disguised as a woman," he says at last. "The next question is, why bother? I can't think of any Bulgarian dark wizards who've disappeared lately."

Well, neither can I, but I'm not exactly an expert in the subject. "It's something else to ask Gawain - assuming we ever get a message through," I say. "When's the next Quidditch match supposed to be?"

"Next weekend, if we're not still snowbound," Ron says. "Shame Krum didn't bring you here like he brought me - I could've talked to him then."

I think that's the first time Ron's ever said he wished I'd spent time with Viktor - although since I was already disguised as Delphine Dumont, he wouldn't have had to worry. "Gawain thought it would look odd if Viktor recommended _two_ new teachers in a row," I explain. "He arranged for some old friend of Baranov's to suddenly 'remember' a French Divination expert."

Ron grins. "Confunded him, I'll bet," he says. "And so naturally Baranov fetched you himself - that's better treatment than I got." He frowns thoughtfully. "Damned if I know why he was so set on offering Divination this term," he says. "He _said_ it was to attract more new students."

"Well, maybe it was," I say. "Do you want to hear about what Xeno Lovegood told me?"

Ron groans. "Only if we can talk about it in bed," he says. "And you've got to take your disguise off, too."

**Harry**

"It's actually quite easy to manage Percy," George had said, when I broke down and went to him for advice. "You just have to appeal to his pompous side. Make him believe that he's absolutely the only person in the world who's intelligent and powerful enough to help you, and you've got him."

Amazingly enough, it worked. Percy wasn't best-pleased at the idea, but when I hinted that it was part of a secret undercover plan that the Aurors were working on, he gave in almost immediately.

"You were the only one I could trust with this," I'd assured him.

Percy had puffed up importantly. "The Auror Department can count on me," he'd said.

I hope he still thinks so after a few days spent in Malfoy's company. I decided I'd better take advantage of the moment to seek out Jeremy Gamp without delay. Malfoy had been pleased enough about the job offer to agree to have an early night, so I'm free to spend the evening disguised as him. He'd also spent several minutes quizzing me about my wardrobe, and had ended by sending me a set of robes by owl.

I pull them on now and survey myself critically in the bedroom mirror. Ginny's out at a Harpies team meeting, so I decided I was safe enough transforming here. I make sure I've got a flask with extra Polyjuice in my robe pocket before pulling the Invisibility Cloak over my head and slipping silently down the stairs.

Jeremy's not at the Black Pearl when I get there, so I take a seat at the bar and wait. He shows up not long afterwards. Daphne, thankfully, doesn't seem to be with him. I nod coldly when he catches my eye.

"All by yourself, Malfoy?" Jeremy says, sitting down next to me and nodding at the barman. "Where's Astoria tonight?"

I give him my best evil-Malfoy glare. "Like you don't know," I say sulkily.

Jeremy smirks. "Ah, yes," he says. "I believe Daphne mentioned something about it. Hard luck." He picks up the glass the barman's just set in front of him and downs it in one. "Join me in a drink?"

If he keeps going at that rate, I shouldn't have any trouble getting him to talk. "Yeah, all right," I say. "Thanks."

"My advice is to forget about her," Jeremy says, pushing a glass over to me. "There are plenty of girls whose fathers aren't so particular."

"I don't want other girls," I say, still sulky. "And Greengrass needn't think he can get rid of me so easily. If he thinks I can't get a job, he's wrong."

Jeremy shudders and tosses back his second firewhisky. "Surely that isn't necessary," he says. "No girl is worth that."

I glare at him again. "You don't work," I say suspiciously. "Why hasn't he objected to his other daughter dating you?"

Jeremy sighs and nods at the barman for another round. "In the first place, Daphne and I are engaged, not dating," he says. "And in the second - my dear Malfoy, you didn't actually believe this was about your lack of employment, did you?"

Well, _I_ don't believe it, but I'm pretty sure _Draco_ did. "What else would it be?" I ask, playing stupid.

Jeremy seems about to speak, but then changes his mind. "I don't know," he says. "Are you seriously looking for a job?"

"I've got an interview already," I say. "With the Department of International Magical Cooperation." Good thing I'm still on my first drink or I wouldn't have been able to get that one out.

Something flickers in Jeremy's eyes. _"Really,"_ he says, sounding interested for the first time. "Why don't we have another drink, and you can tell me all about it." 

**Harry**

It's taken me a solid three weeks of hanging about at the Black Pearl, but I think Jeremy Gamp is finally at the point where he trusts Draco Malfoy. (Well, trusts _me_, actually. Gamp doesn't know it, but he's spent far more time with Harry Potter than he has with Malfoy.) He hasn't let anything really important slip, but it's only a matter of time. He's dropped some heavy hints about wanting to know what's going on in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. For my part, I've dropped several hints of my own indicating that I wouldn't be averse to sharing information if I knew what it was going to be used for.

We're at the point where one of us is going to have to cave in, so I'm not at all disappointed when Malfoy tells me he's been invited to dinner with the Greengrass family this evening.

"Astoria sent me an owl this morning," he says jubilantly. He's so pleased that he's clearly forgotten how much he hates me. He's (almost) smiling.

"Well done," I tell him. I'm not sure if I mean it or not. I have a feeling I may have done Astoria a bad turn.

Malfoy suddenly remembers who he's talking to. "So you can't do whatever it is you've been doing tonight," he snaps, glaring at me. "Because _I'm_ going out."

"Fine," I say equably. It's not a bad strategic move to leave Jeremy guessing for a night or two.

Malfoy looks disappointed not to have gotten more of a reaction. "If all goes well, I'm going to be going out most nights," he says, defying me to object.

The lift stops on Level Five, and the door opens. Malfoy starts to get out, but I block his exit. "Just one thing," I say, flicking my wand at the door so that it closes again. "If you should happen to run into Jeremy Gamp, he may ask you some rather strange questions regarding your new position."

Malfoy looks outraged. "And just what the hell am I supposed to do about that?" he demands.

"You'll tell him you need time to gather the information, and then you'll refer the question to me," I say calmly. "I'll take it from there."

"Oh," Malfoy says. "I suppose that's all right." He starts to leave and then looks back over his shoulder at me, irritated. "Precisely how long is this state of affairs going to continue, Potter?"

I grin at him. "Dunno," I say. "How long have you got to hold a job before Astoria's dad thinks you're good enough for her?"

Malfoy mutters something extremely rude under his breath as he exits the lift, but I don't bother responding. It'll be interesting to hear what happens when he does run into Jeremy.

The thought gives me an idea. I catch up with O'Connor as she starts into the weekly staff meeting. "How'd you like a night off from Narcissa?" I ask in a low voice.

"I'd love it," O'Connor says fervently. "What do you want me to do?"

She's pleased with her new assignment, and I'm in a good mood as I take my place at the head of the table to start the meeting. Unfortunately, it doesn't last long.

Staff meetings are boring as hell - Ron always claimed they were worse than a History of Magic lesson - and my new perspective doesn't make them any more interesting. (Actually it's worse, because now I've got to pay attention.) Fifteen minutes in, I've nearly bored myself into a coma. I stop abruptly in the middle of a paragraph about new Ministry budgetary constraints and look around the table. Most of the Aurors are wearing the glazed expressions of people trying heroically to stay awake. Jackson alone looks alert, but that's likely because he's doing the _Daily Prophet_ crossword under the table. I flick my wand casually in his direction, and the Aurors break into laughter as the newspaper flies out of Jackson's hands and forms itself into a hat, settling neatly on his head.

Jackson grins at me good-humoredly. "Sorry," he says.

"No, I don't blame you," I say. "These meetings are bloody awful, aren't they?"

The Aurors look surreptitiously at each other, clearly wondering if they're being set up.

"I mean it," I say. "There's no reason to put ourselves through this every week. Going forward, I'm going to ask Persimmon to distribute this information in the form of a memo." I look at the place on my left. "All right, Persimmon?"

"Absolutely," Persimmon says, looking relieved. "I could go and write it now, if you like."

"Not just yet, if you don't mind," I say. "In place of the meeting, we're going to do something else."

The Aurors, who'd been looking delighted, start looking nervously at each other again. I'm a bit nervous myself. I'm not sure how this is going to go over - especially with the older lot. But I'm sure of one thing. It's absolutely necessary.

**Ron**

For once it's not snowing, and while I wouldn't exactly call it a nice day, you can almost see the sun if you squint hard enough. All the Quidditch teams decided to get in a bit of practice after lessons ended for the day, and most of the school's pushed off to watch them. They probably figure it's as close as they're going to get to seeing an actual match before spring. Normally I'd be down there myself, but Hermione wants me to meet her in the library. It's _exactly_ the sort of thing she would have done back when we were at school ourselves - only back then I would have been able to ignore her because I would've had practice myself. Now I've got no excuse.

_It's probably freezing out there, anyway,_ I tell myself consolingly as I hurry through the empty corridors. I push open the door of the library, peering around uncertainly. I've never been in here before. The torches on the wall are burning, but the place appears to be deserted.

"Good afternoon," a voice says from directly behind me.

I nearly jump out of my skin. "Oh, hello," I say, turning to see the ghost of a wizard dressed in robes that seem to date back to the last century. "I wasn't sure if - is the library closed?"

"No," the ghost says, appearing surprised. "Vhy do you ask?"

_Oh, no reason. It's just that I've seen livelier graveyards._ "I - er - have you got any books in English?" I ask, wondering where the hell Hermione is. The ghost is going to say they haven't, and then I'm going to have to leave before she gets here.

Much to my surprise, he glides silently past me and points a long, transparent finger at the bottom shelf of a nearby bookcase.

"Right," I say nervously. "Well, thanks. I'll just have a look, then."

I'm hoping he'll take the hint and leave, but he hovers. He probably doesn't get much in the way of business.

I bend down reluctantly to look. It's so dim that I have to light my wand. I have to repress a groan when I see the selection. The books written in English consist solely of the complete works of Gilderoy Lockhart and a battered copy of something called _Love's Burning Cauldron_.

"You vould like very much to read vun of these, yes?" the ghost says firmly.

Great - now I'm going to have to check one of them out. "Yeah, all right," I say, deciding on _Love's Burning Cauldron_ as the lesser of two evils. "I'll have this one."

Something very like a smirk crosses the ghost's face. "You vill sign the card in the back and leave it on the desk, please," he instructs, drifting toward the front of the room. "I hope you vill enjoy it, Professor."

He's definitely smirking. I sort of wish I hadn't picked this one - I'll never live it down if the ghost takes it into his head to mention it to any of my students - but it's too late now. I scribble Harris's name and the date on the card and set it on the desk next to a stack of others. I bend closer, curious, and realize they're all signed "Delphine Dumont" with today's date.

I look up at the ghost, now hovering over the desk. "She was in here today?" I ask, nodding at the cards. "Professor Dumont?"

The ghost swoops down to have a look. "It appears so, yes," he says. "Professor Dumont reads many books."

There's an understatement for you. But now I'm getting worried. She wouldn't have had time to come here earlier in the day, and she couldn't have left already because I would have met her in the corridor.

I turn abruptly and start toward the back of the room. "Professor Dumont?" I call.

"I must ask you please not to shout," the ghost says rebukingly.

There's something sparkly on the floor ahead. Ignoring the ghost, I hurry toward it. "Professor Dumont?" I call again. "Are you all right?"

A faint moan answers me. I break into a run.

"Professor!" the ghost says, sounding horrified.

The sparkly thing is a sequin - like the ones on Hermione's shawl. I round the corner and see her, crumpled up on the floor under a ladder with books scattered all around her. I drop to my knees beside her. Please let her be all right. "Herm - er, Professor?" I whisper anxiously. "Are you - _Ennervate!_"

Hermione moans again and opens her eyes.

**Hermione**

"Ron, I'm perfectly all right," I say for at least the dozenth time. "I was only on the bottom step of the ladder - I didn't have very far to fall."

"You look a bit pale still," Ron says, tucking another cushion behind my back. "Maybe you'd better lie down."

"I'm fine here on the sofa," I say patiently. "And I'm supposed to be pale - it's part of my disguise."

"I'm going to make you some tea," Ron decides. "Or maybe you ought to have something stronger. I've got some firewhisky in my room - "

I hate firewhisky, and he knows it. "Just the tea," I tell him.

"Here," Ron says, handing me a steaming cup. "And I think you ought to put your feet up." He sits down on the end of the sofa and lifts my feet into his lap. "What happened, anyway? Did you fall off the ladder?"

It's the first time we've really been able to talk since he found me. It took us ages to get rid of the librarian - he kept hovering over us, wringing his hands. "The ladder, it is not so steady," he kept saying worriedly. I finally said I wanted to go back to my room and lie down, and Ron insisted on half-carrying me here, even though I told him I was perfectly able to walk. Now he seems to be under the same misapprehension as the librarian.

"I most certainly did not fall," I say. "Someone Stunned me."

Ron leans forward, encircling my ankle with one hand. "Someone - did you see who it was?"

I shake my head. "I was reaching for a book, and I saw something move out of the corner of my eye," I say. "It looked like a piece of a fur robe - and then I saw the flash of light and I tried to do a Shield Charm, but my hands were full of books, and - "

"And you couldn't get your wand out in time," Ron finishes for me. "A fur robe… well, that could've been anyone, including students. Damn that ghost, anyway - you'd think he might have seen _something_!"

"He wasn't anywhere around when I came in," I say, remembering. "And I was glad, because I didn't want him to see what I was looking for." I sit up, attempting to pull my feet out of his grip. "And I'd just found something really important - I remember now!"

"Sit still," Ron says firmly. "I've got the whole lot right here." He flicks his wand at the stack of books that he carried back for me, sending them winging onto the couch in between us.

I lean forward eagerly, and start lifting the books one by one. "_Love's Burning Cauldron_?" I say, staring in disbelief at a cover depicting a witch and a wizard locked in each other's arms in front of a most improbable-looking waterfall. "Where on earth did this come from?"

"That ghost bloke made me have it," Ron says, looking embarrassed. "I had to pretend I wanted a book, and - stop laughing, Hermione! It was either that or Lockhart!"

I can't repress my smile as I turn back to the books, but it's gone by the time I reach the end of the stack. "It isn't here!" I say, frustrated. "I'm going to go back and get it."

"You're not," Ron says immediately. "Someone attacked you, remember? I'll go." He stands up. "And I don't want you going to the library on your own anymore, either," he adds.

"Fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "You can come with me from now on. Maybe they've got some more romance novels tucked away in the back that you can read."

"You just make sure you lock the door behind me," Ron says firmly. "And don't let anyone else in here. Come to think of it, you probably shouldn't go anyplace without me from now on."

I'm about to argue, but he's wearing his obstinate look and I can tell it won't be of any use. We'll discuss it later, when he's calmed down. "Fine," I say again.

Ron looks startled. "Okay, then," he says. "Er, what's that book called?"

"The title's in Ancient Runes," I say, smiling sweetly at him. "I've drawn it out for you. I'm afraid you'll have to look through the whole section - I don't quite remember which shelf it was on. Oh, and mind you look closely - most of the bindings are faded."

"Right," Ron says, accepting the parchment without enthusiasm. "I'll be back soon to take you to dinner. And I'm staying in here all night with you, too. I can set the alarm and sneak back to my own room before anyone wakes up tomorrow morning."

It sounds a bit risky, but I can't bring myself to object. "I'll sleep better with you here," I admit.

He may be disguised as Professor Harris, but the look he gives me is pure Ron Weasley. "I wouldn't count on doing much sleeping, Hermione," he says.

**Harry**

"What did you do, make them practice Stunning each other?" Ginny asks. "It sounds just like our old D.A. meetings."

"It was a little more complicated than that," I say, although the truth is that I got the idea from Ron telling me about his Durmstrang version of Dumbledore's Army. "I had them try to Imperius each other so they could learn what the curse feels like and practice resisting it. I think it's important - even though not everyone seemed to agree with me."

"Of course it's important!" Ginny says at once. "You'd think that Aurors of all people would realize - "

She breaks off in mid-sentence as Kreacher enters the room, bearing a tray.

"Kipper, Mistress?" he asks, holding the platter under Ginny's nose.

"No," Ginny says. She suddenly looks rather green. "I - excuse me!" Pushing her chair back, she hurries from the room, hand over her mouth.

I follow her, concerned, but she shuts the bathroom door in my face. "I like to throw up alone," she says between clenched teeth.

Fair enough - I prefer it that way myself. I return to the dining room, although I've rather lost my appetite for breakfast. Kreacher's disappeared, but the offending plate of kippers is on the sideboard. I hastily Vanish it; then open a window to let in some fresh air. Ginny must have eaten something that disagreed with her, but I can't think what -

"Congratulations," a man's voice says.

I look up, startled. The faces in the portrait opposite are all smiling and nodding at me, but it wasn't Sirius's voice - or Remus's. "Dad?" I say tentatively.

"_Grand_-dad's more like it, by the looks of things," my dad says.

"Congratulations, Harry," Remus puts in quietly.

I stare at them, confused. Sirius looks as puzzled as I do, but the other three are all beaming. "Don't tease him, James," my mum says. "You were just as clueless, as I recall." She gives me a warm smile. "Harry, is there a chance Ginny could be pregnant?"

"Huh?" I say, startled. "Well, sure there's a chance. I mean, we haven't exactly been planning it, but we haven't been doing anything to stop it, either, so - " I break off, face reddening as I realize this might actually be more than they want to know.

Much to my relief, Ginny chooses that moment to return. She's still looking a bit pale. "Come and sit down," I say, pulling out her chair. She drops into it and to my astonishment, reaches for the toast rack.

"Feeling better, dear?" my mum says kindly.

Ginny looks round, startled. "You're talking!" she says, delighted. "Do you all talk now?"

"We do," Remus says, smiling at her. "I remember Dora going through the same thing."

"What?" Ginny says.

"They think you're pregnant," I explain. "Er - _are_ you?"

Ginny turns back to face me. "I don't know," she says slowly. "I suppose I could be. Oh, Harry, do you think- "

I gather her into my arms. "Well, this lot seem to think so," I say, gesturing at the portrait. "But maybe you'd better see a Healer, just to be sure."

**Ron**

"You can't have looked properly," Hermione says.

I knew she was going to say that. "I did look," I tell her. "I looked at every bloody book in the whole section - that's what took me so long. It wasn't there."

Hermione starts to get up. "I'll come back with you and have a look for myself," she says. "I'm sure I can find it."

I knew she was going to say _that_, too. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe whoever Stunned you took it?" I say. "That was probably the whole point - they didn't want you to see whatever was in that book!" And she still hasn't told me what that was, by the way.

Hermione drops back down onto the sofa. "Of course," she whispers.

I wait, but she doesn't seem to have anything else to add. "So what was it?" I ask finally.

"Oh," Hermione says. "I'd forgotten you didn't know. It was a book on secret societies that have flourished throughout Eastern Europe over the past five centuries. I'm sure it would have told us all about the Brotherhood of Blood."

If you ask me, there's no point in _reading_ about the Brotherhood of Blood when we've got the perfect opportunity to study some real-life members right in front of us. But that's Hermione for you. "Write to Flourish and Blott's and see if they can get you a copy," I advise. "I'll bet it was Kirilov who Stunned you. Or maybe Etilka - seems like the sort of thing she'd do, doesn't it?"

"He," Hermione corrects me. She's still on about that. "I'm going to owl Flourish and Blott's right away."

I stare out the window, thinking while her quill scratches away in the background. The Durmstrangers are all starting to come back from the Quidditch field. I press my nose against the glass - maybe I can figure out who's missing - but everyone looks the same, bundled up in those fur robes.

"There," Hermione says. "I've just time to send it before dinner."

I turn around. "Maybe you shouldn't go to dinner," I say.

"Of course I should," Hermione says. "I'll have to tell everyone how I lost my balance and fell off a ladder in the library. You can be watching their faces when I tell the story. I'm sure whoever Stunned me will be wondering if I knew what really happened."

Whoever it was is likely too good of an actor to give it away that easily, but I'm willing to give it a go. "Are you going to tell about the handsome Chess professor who happened by and rescued you?" I ask, grinning at her.

"I'll have to," Hermione says. "Someone's quite likely to question the librarian." She grins back. "You'd better just hope no one asks you which book you checked out."

**Harry**

I can hardly keep myself from grabbing random strangers in the corridors of St. Mungo's and blurting out the good news, but Ginny and I agreed to keep it to ourselves for the time being.

"The middle of September," Ginny says wonderingly. She smiles at me. "He'll have to wait a whole extra year to go to Hogwarts."

"Why 'he'?" I say. "It might be a girl."

"It isn't," Ginny says positively. "If you wanted a girl, you shouldn't have married a Weasley."

"Fleur married a Weasley, and she managed it," I say, but I don't care one way or the other. I'm fine with boys.

"Fleur's part veela," Ginny says. "They're just the opposite; they nearly always have girls."

They do? I start to ask Ginny how she knows this; then decide it really doesn't matter. "Hermione had to wait the extra year, and she was the cleverest witch in the whole school," I say instead. "Maybe it'll do our son good to wait."

"He'll be top of his class," Ginny agrees. She glances down at one of the pamphlets the Healer gave her. "I'm going to need to stop at the Apothecary for some of these herbs Healer Kelly recommended. Do you need anything in Diagon Alley while I'm there?"

"I'll get them," I say at once. "You ought to go home and rest."

Ginny laughs. "Harry, I'm fine!" she protests. "Healer Kelly said I was the picture of health."

"Yes," I admit, not saying that Healer Kelly'd looked a bit anxious when she heard what Ginny did for a living. "Maybe I'll come with you, then. I told Persimmon I wouldn't be in this morning."

"Let's go to lunch," Ginny suggests. "I'm starving."

I look at my watch. "It's only half-past ten," I point out.

"I didn't have any breakfast," Ginny reminds me. "And I - oh, no. Walk faster."

Too late. "Well, if it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Potter," Rita Skeeter says, staring at us avidly. "And what might the pair of you be doing at St. Mungo's? Not ill, I hope. Or - "

Ginny hastily stuffs the pamphlets into her pocket, but Rita's already seen them. "It appears that congratulations are in order," she says, eyes brightening behind her jeweled spectacles.

"Don't be silly," Ginny says coolly. "They're for a friend."

Rita's quick Quotes Quill appears from nowhere. "For Hermione Weasley?" she asks.

"What?" I say, startled into responding.

Rita turns eagerly to me. "Come on, Potter," she says. "She's taken leave of absence from the Ministry, and no one's seen her in weeks. Everyone's positive she's gone off somewhere to have Weasley's baby - or more likely, to track him down and hold him responsible. We've even got a pool going at the _Prophet_."

Well, that's a new one. Poor Hermione - it's a good thing she hasn't got access to the _Daily Prophet_ just now.

"Haven't you got somewhere else to be?" I ask.

"There's a three-hundred pound man down there who thinks he's a Cornish pixie," Rita says, pointing over her shoulder at a room several doors away. "They can't figure out how to get the hex off him, and meanwhile he keeps trying to swing from the curtains."

There's a splintering crash from the end of the corridor. "Maybe you'd better get down there," I say pointedly.

"Oh, I think not," Rita purrs. "This is far more interesting."

The only thing to do is ignore her. "Come on, Ginny," I say, taking her hand and turning my back on Rita.

Rita's next remark stops me in my tracks. "I can find her, you know," she says. "I have contacts all over the world."

I doubt that - but the one thing I _don't_ want is people looking for Hermione. "Leave her alone, Rita," I say.

Rita folds her arms and waits, eyebrows raised. Her message is crystal clear - she's not going to back off unless I offer something in return. I retrace my steps reluctantly.

"Okay," I say in a low voice. "Give us six weeks or so, all right? We haven't even told the family yet. I'll give you an interview then if you keep quiet for now - and if you don't print anything else about Hermione."

"I'd want the exclusive," Rita says. "And I want a follow-up interview when the baby's born."

"Why not?" I say. "Have we got a deal? You'll leave Hermione alone?"

Rita hesitates. "All right," she says finally. "But no more than six weeks, mind. If you don't come through with a story by then, I'm going after her."

I nod and rejoin Ginny, shuddering inwardly at the thought of what Rita's probable story is going to turn out like. There's one we won't be pasting into the baby album.

"She's such a cow," Ginny says, watching Rita hurry away in the direction of the three-hundred pound pixie. She glances sideways at me and does a _Muffliato_ Charm. "Harry? You'd tell me if Hermione was pregnant, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but she's not," I say, hoping very much that I'm speaking the truth. That's all we need right now.

"Well, then where is she?" Ginny whispers fiercely. "And don't tell me she's visiting her parents all this time. Something's going on."

"Yeah," I admit. "Something is. Only - "

"Only you can't tell me," Ginny finishes with a sigh. "Shall I tell you what I think? I think Ron went off on some secret mission for the Aurors, and that now Hermione's gone to join him. And I don't believe they were ever broken up, either!"

I can't tell her - the Fidelius Charm won't let me - but I don't want Ginny worrying any more. The Healer said she needed to relax and get plenty of rest. "Do you know," I say at last. "It wouldn't surprise me at all if you turned out to be right!"

I smile down into her astonished face and lead her through the plate-glass window and into the street.

**Ron**

The noise is so soft that at first I think I'm imagining it. No, there it is again. I hold my breath, listening. I roll carefully away from Hermione and ease silently out of the bed. It's coming from the door…

I edge closer and light my wand. Someone's turning the doorknob - very, very slowly.

They can't get in - I've got every ward known to the Auror Department protecting this room - but it still makes me uneasy. Just the idea that someone's trying to get in is scary.

The doorknob goes still. I strain my ears for the sound of someone tiptoeing away, but I can't hear anything.

"Ron?" Hermione murmurs sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Shh," I warn, even though no one outside can hear us through the Soundproofing Charm. "There's someone out there."

Hermione sits up. "Oh, _is_ there," she says, sounding more annoyed than frightened. "I suppose they think they're coming in."

"That's probably the general idea, yeah," I say. "I - no, stay where you are!"

Too late. Hermione, wand in hand, joins me near the door. "Are they still there?" she whispers. "I don't hear anything."

"I think so," I say. "I'm going out there. You stay here, and keep the door locked."

"I most certainly will not," Hermione says indignantly. "If you think I'm going to cower in here while you're out chasing down who knows what - " She pauses. "Anyway, you can't go out there," she adds practically. "You haven't taken your Polyjuice in hours."

"Disillusionment Charm," I remind her. "And you don't look much like a Divination professor at the moment."

"You're not the only one who can do a Disillusionment Charm," Hermione says, but she points her wand at her face and starts putting her disguise back in place.

I wish she'd just go back to bed where it's safe - but if she did, she wouldn't be Hermione. "Okay," I say resignedly. "Here's the plan. I'm going to lift the Soundproofing Charm. You call out and ask who it is. Mind you stand well back from the door, because I'm going to open it while you're talking and Stun whoever's out there."

Hermione nods and moves several steps out of the range of the doorway. I remove the Soundproofing Charm and quickly Disillusion myself. I nod to Hermione, realizing too late that she can't see me anymore. I'll just have to hope she doesn't wait all night.

She doesn't. "'Oo ees eet?" she calls in a quavering voice. "Ees someone there?"

I fling the door open at the same time, directing a Stunning spell straight ahead of me. It bounces harmlessly off the opposite wall in the empty corridor.

I take a chance and do a quick nonverbal _Muffliato_. "Stay here," I hiss at Hermione. Without waiting to see if she's going to listen, I take off down the corridor.

**Hermione**

I want to run after Ron, but I haven't any idea which way he went, seeing as he's invisible. Anyway, whoever it is might come back this way. I position myself in the open doorway and wait, wand out.

Several minutes later, I hear footsteps. "Get back in bed; you look half-frozen," Ron's voice whispers roughly.

I don't move. "Our first kiss was?" I whisper back.

"Right before all hell broke loose at the Battle of Hogwarts - but I'm not exactly the only person who knows that," Ron answers.

I move back, letting him in. "You're the only one who knew it was the first one," I say, once we've locked the door and put the Soundblocking Charm back in place. "Everyone else thought we'd been going out for ages."

"Harry didn't," Ron argues. "Still, I reckon it wouldn't matter if you let Harry in." He takes the Disillusionment Charm off and reaches for me.

I move gratefully into his arms. I didn't feel afraid while everything was happening, but now that it's all over, I can't stop trembling.

"Back to bed," Ron says firmly. "And you might take that disguise off. I don't think we'll be troubled again tonight."

"Did you see anyone?" I ask, pulling the covers up over both of us.

Ron shakes his head. "I didn't see or hear anyone," he admits. "I even did a _Hominum Revelio_ spell in case they'd done a Disillusionment Charm of their own, but whoever it was, they were long gone."

"Likely they left as soon as they realized they couldn't get in," I say, unable to restrain a shiver. "Do you suppose - "

"Yeah, I do," Ron says quietly. "It's a damned good thing I decided to stay here tonight."

They couldn't have gotten in whether he was here or not, but I don't bother saying so. I'm glad he was here, too. "I thought I'd done a good acting job at dinner," I say ruefully.

"You did brilliantly," Ron assures me. He puts on a horrible French accent and says "My 'oroscope - eet warned me of a fall!"

"I thought that was a nice touch," I admit. "But you were watching their faces - we both were."

"Etilka looked sort of pleased, but she would anyway," Ron says. "She's the sort who likes it when other people have accidents."

"He," I say automatically. "And Kirilov - "

"Looked bored, like he always does," Ron answered. "Andor Miklos just looked confused, but I don't think his English is very good." He grins suddenly. "I liked Dorika, laying into Baranov about repairing the ladders!"

I have to smile myself. I almost felt sorry for Baranov when he was protesting that he just didn't have the funds to make repairs. But then I remembered all the gold fittings in his office.

"In any case, it looks as though someone didn't believe me," I say.

Ron's silent for a minute. "Either they didn't believe you," he says slowly. "Or they think you've got that book and they want it back."

"But _they've_ got it," I protest.

"Do they?" Ron asks. "All we know is someone's got it, and it isn't us." His arms tighten around me. "I don't like this, Hermione. I think you ought to get out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere without you," I say firmly. "As long as we're careful, it's perfectly safe."

Ron sighs. "Then we're going to wrap this thing up as quick as we can so I can get you home," he says. "Gawain told me not to instigate anything - just to let things unfold naturally - but it's taking too bloody long his way. I think it's time we made a move."

"All right," I say, a bit apprehensively. "Have you got a plan?"

"As a matter of fact," Ron says, "I do."

**Harry**

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Malfoy asks sulkily.

I'd thought the only person in the world that I didn't want to share my news with was Rita Skeeter, but I've just found another. "No particular reason," I say. "Why are you in such a bad one? I thought everything was all straightened out with your girl."

As a matter of fact, I know it is. O'Connor's enjoying her new role as Daphne Greengrass's shadow. She was able to slip into the Greengrass house last night behind Malfoy and provide me with a complete report on the dinner party.

"It is," Malfoy says now. "Not that it's any of your business, Potter."

I raise my eyebrows. "Who got you that job at the Ministry? I'd say a thank-you's in order!"

"Like I'd thank _you_," Malfoy says. "You only did it so you could use me to spy on Gamp."

Speaking of which… "Have you got plans tonight?" I ask.

Malfoy looks annoyed. "I thought I did, but there's some sort of bridal shower for Daphne. I wanted Astoria to give it a miss, but she says she can't."

She's Daphne's sister - of course she can't. Even I know that much. Even _Ron_ would know that much. But I don't bother saying so.

"In that case, you won't mind if I borrow your personal appearance," I say instead.

Malfoy looks, if possible, even more annoyed. "This is getting old, Potter," he warns.

"I agree," I say. "Believe it or not, I find it even less enjoyable than you do. Unfortunately, it's important."

Malfoy sighs. "All right, then," he says. "Hurry up and arrest him, can't you? I'm tired of having to double-date with him and Daphne."

I give him a sharp look. "What makes you think I plan to arrest Gamp?"

"Exactly how stupid do you think I am?" Malfoy demands. "Everyone knows what happened at Durmstrang a few years ago."

"Do they?" I say, reflecting that _I_ certainly don't. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Malfoy looks gleeful at the idea that he might know something that I don't. "Forget it," he says, smirking at me. "Go find one of your mates at the Ministry and ask him."

I could, I suppose - and waste hours trying to track down the information. Inspiration strikes. "Ah, go on, Malfoy," I say coaxingly. "Tell you what - I've got two passes to that 'Breakfast with the Weird Sisters' event that's coming up next week. I'll give them to you if you'll tell me the whole story." I'd been planning to take Ginny, but breakfast isn't exactly her best meal these days. Malfoy might just as well have them.

"Astoria likes the Weird Sisters," Malfoy says grudgingly. "All right, I suppose I can spare the time to tell you."

"This had better be worth it," I warn, trying a little reverse psychology.

Malfoy smirks at me. "Don't worry," he says. "It will be."

**Hermione**

"Break into pairs, and take turns looking eento zee crystal ball," I intone in my most Trelawney-ish manner. "Relax your mind and try to see weeth your Eener Eye."

It's immediately obvious that I'm going to have to partner with Juliska again. The poor girl is the only half-blood in this particular class, and none of the other students ever want to work with her.

I'm aware of a slight reluctance on my own part - not because of her blood status, obviously, but because Juliska's demonstrated what I'd almost call a _talent_ for Divination. Well, I'd call it that if I believed in Divination. Which I don't, obviously.

"A practice for fools and charlatans," Professor McGonagall once said to me in an unguarded moment, and I'd wholeheartedly agreed with her. Oh, I know Trelawney made two real prophecies, but that was - well, sort of an accident, wasn't it? Juliska, on the other hand…

"Tell me what you see," I'd said, handing her my tea cup back on the first day of class.

"A mask," Juliska had said instantly. "Somevun is pretending… somevun is not who he seems to be."

I'd been too astonished to respond.

"Is correct?" Juliska had asked, peering up at me anxiously. "I am perhaps forgetting the meaning…"

"No, eet ees correct," I'd assured her hastily. "Do you see anyzing else?"

"Only another mask," Juliska'd said apologetically. "I am thinking perhaps I am not so good at this, Professor. I am only seeing two masks… so now there are two peoples pretending, are there not?"

It had to have been a coincidence. Only then how do I explain her reading my palm and telling me in a puzzled voice that my hand showed an early marriage? "But perhaps you are much younger than I am thinking, Professor," she'd said, clearly hoping to encourage me about my future prospects.

Now I push the crystal ball in her direction - not without internal misgivings. "Relax and tell me what you see, Juliska," I say, hoping she'll be like Ron and offer me a weather prediction.

But it's obvious from her intent expression that she is, in fact, Seeing. "Is very strange," she says, looking confused. "Two peoples - I am not knowing them - and they are coming here. To Durmstrang." Her puzzled blue eyes meet mine. "But no vun comes to Durmstrang vithout being invited, Professor. So how can this be?" 

**Hermione**

"You're the last person I'd expect to take Divination seriously," Ron says. He leans forward and grabs another handful of _petits-fours_ from the box. "These little cake things aren't half-bad."

"I _don't_ take it seriously," I argue. "At least, not usually. But Juliska… much as I hate to say it, I think she may have a gift."

"Juliska?" Ron says, upending the empty box to see if he's possibly missed any. "She doesn't seem like the type, somehow."

"Just because she isn't any good at chess doesn't mean she can't be talented in other areas," I say meaningfully. (I ought to know - I'm not a very good chess player myself.)

Ron grins at me, understanding at once. "Not what I meant at all," he says. "Although come to think of it, you'd think she could use some of those Divination skills when she's playing chess to predict what her opponent's going to do."

"It doesn't work that way," I say, although I'd be hard-put to explain exactly how it _does_ work.

"Well, let's hope she's wrong about those strangers approaching the castle," Ron says. "Otherwise it's going to throw our plan off." He looks around hopefully. "Did we have another box of these cake things, or was that the last of them?"

Honestly. "Top drawer of my desk," I tell him. "And she knew I was an imposter straight off - there's no getting round that."

"All she said was that a couple of people around here aren't who they're pretending to be," Ron says reasonably. "That could just as easily be Kirilov and Etilka as it could us."

Good point. "I wish I could think of some way to prove Etilka's a man," I say.

"I can't think of anything besides surprising her in the shower," Ron says. "And _that's_ not a sight I'm prepared to see, even she does turn out to be a woman."

**Harry**

I thought I'd heard everything now, but the story about Jeremy Gamp still shook me up a bit. I tried not to let Malfoy know, but I think he could tell. (Unsurprisingly, this appeared to please him.) I left him as quickly as I could so that I could get away and think.

I'm not sure what to do next. I know Perdita doesn't like talking about her brother, but how could she have kept something like this from us? My first impulse is to ask her directly, but her baby's due in a few weeks and I'm worried about upsetting her. I don't want to - well, set things off early or something. I decide to do the next best thing and approach Marvin. As I'd expected, I find him at St. Mungo's.

"I'm just about due for a break," Marvin says. "Will we go to the tea shop?"

"Is there anyplace a bit more private?" I ask.

Marvin obligingly takes me to the Healers Lounge. "I'm not supposed to bring visitors in here, but I don't expect anyone will mind seeing as it's you," he says. "Care for a cup of tea?"

I can't think of a good way to approach the subject, so I just plunge straight in. "Why didn't you tell me that Perdita's brother was a murder suspect when he was at Durmstrang?" I demand.

Marvin starts, spilling the tea he'd been pouring all over the table. _"What?"_ he says.

"Sorry," I say. "Reckon I should've waited till you'd set the teapot down before I said that. Here, I'll get it. _Tergio!_"

Marvin hasn't moved. I take the teapot from his hand and set it carefully on the table. "You didn't know, then?" I say, somewhat unnecessarily.

"No," Marvin says. "Mind, Jeremy's always been a thoroughly bad lot and I wouldn't put much past him, but - _murder_? He was just a kid then."

I think about saying that Voldemort was just a kid when he started in on killing people, but there's really no comparison. "Draco Malfoy's the one who told me the story," I say instead. "He said it was fairly well-known at the time."

"Not to me, it wasn't," Marvin answers. "Nor to Perdita." He sits down across from me and reaches for a cup. "Maybe you'd better tell me the whole thing."

"Malfoy said that several years ago, one of the Durmstrang students - a fourteen-year-old girl - was suspected of being a Muggle-born masquerading as a pureblood," I say. "She disappeared one night, and her body was found several weeks later less than a mile from the castle. There wasn't anything to show what had killed her - she either froze to death, or - "

"Or it was the _Avada Kedavra_," Marvin says, understanding at once. "Poor thing. But she might have just been trying to run away. Why did they think Jeremy had anything to do with it?"

"Because he'd been going around bragging that if the rumor turned out to be true, he'd make her sorry she ever came to Durmstrang," I say. "There wasn't any actual proof, and Karkarov, who was Headmaster at the time, had to let him off after he'd been questioned."

"From what Perdita's said about Karkarov, I'd imagine he was probably delighted," Marvin says.

"Jeremy apparently told several of his closest friends that of course he was responsible for the girl's death," I say. "But none of them turned him in."

"They wouldn't," Marvin says shortly. "It was like that at Hogwarts, too. Only Dumbledore cared a lot more about the safety of his students than Karkarov did."

I feel terrible about asking this, but I've got to. "Are you sure no one told Perdita?" I ask. "Her parents, or - "

"She really wasn't communicating much with her parents by then," Marvin says. "She spent the holidays at school, and in the summer she stayed with her grandmother." He shakes his head. "I wish I could be of more help to you, Harry, but this is the first I've heard of it. Although I must say that it doesn't sound unlike the Jeremy Gamp I knew."

"Maybe you'd better not mention it to Perdita, then," I suggest. "She probably ought to be resting."

"Not much chance of that," Marvin says, looking tense. "Jeremy's been up to his old tricks again. Only since she doesn't go out anymore, he comes to her."

Perdita and Marvin's flat is on the third floor. "How?" I ask.

"That hologram thing - or whatever it is - can float, apparently," Marvin says. "Last night she looked out to see it had stopped raining and there was Jeremy's face outside the window. She knows it's not real, of course, but it was still a bit of a shock."

"I'll bet it was," I say, realizing guiltily that I haven't done anything about researching possible spells Gamp could be using. This is when I need Hermione. "Look, Marvin, she can't carry on staying there," I say briskly.

"We've been through all that a dozen times since last night," Marvin says, a little wearily. "She won't go into hiding." He pours himself a fresh cup of tea and sits studying it for a minute. "And she says I don't understand how she feels because I've never been pregnant. Which is true, obviously, but I _am_ a fully-qualified Healer, and I've spent years studying the subject, and - "

"Let it go," I advise him. "You won't win _that_ argument."

Marvin smiles wanly. "I wish I knew an older woman she could talk to," he says. "Do you think your mother-in-law would possibly be willing to help?"

Molly'd be only too pleased, but she wouldn't be able to stop herself from trying to pump Perdita for information about Ron, and if the two of them put their heads together…

Inspiration strikes suddenly. "I have a better idea," I say.

"I'd love to help, if she wouldn't think I was interfering," Andromeda Tonks says an hour later. "Perdita's always been very independent, as I recall."

"You know her?" I say, startled.

"We've never actually met," Andromeda answers. "But Dora used to talk about her a great deal. They worked together, you know."

I didn't know - or if I did, I'd forgotten. "Can I bring her and Marvin to tea?" I ask.

"Of course," Andromeda says readily. "Bring them tomorrow, if you like." She glances past me out the window at Teddy, busily throwing snowballs for a resigned-looking crup to fetch. "I'd better call him in - poor Max looks about done in, doesn't he?"

Max is the crup - a Christmas present from Molly and Arthur. "Yeah, do," I say. "It's been a couple of weeks since I've seen him properly." I feel guilty about neglecting my godfatherly duties, but things have been insane lately with Gawain just taking off like that…

Andromeda gives me an understanding look. "Teddy knows you love him," she says. "That's all that matters."

I get up and look at the bookshelves while I'm waiting for her to fetch Teddy. Most of it's the normal sort of thing you'd find in anyone's bookcase, but there's one shelf that looks like the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. I can't help wondering if Andromeda actually reads any of these.

"Oh, _those_," Andromeda says, when I ask her about them. "Cheery, aren't they? They were here when we bought the house. I always meant to dispose of them, but somehow I never got around to it. Still, with Teddy getting older - "

"I have lots of books," Teddy announces, bouncing on my knee. "My favorite is _The Happy Hippogriff_."

"Brilliant," I say, smiling at him. "Why don't you bring it in here and we'll read it together?" I reckon I'd better get some practice in while I can.

I turn back to the shelves as Teddy rushes off to find his book. A title catches my eye. "You know, maybe it's a good thing you didn't throw these out," I say, reaching for it. "I think I might know someone who'd find this quite useful."

**Ron**

"Professor, look!" Anya exclaims. "I am really doing it!"

I stare blankly at the four-footed silvery thing that's erupted from her wand. "That's brilliant," I say. "Er - what is it, do you think?" It looks like a cross between a doe and a cow. Still, it's not bad for a first Patronus, and it'll likely settle into a proper shape with a bit of practice.

"You are not knowing her?" Anya says, sounding surprised. "She is reindeer."

Oh. Right. We see so many of those in London. "Of course it is," I say quickly. "That's really excellent, Anya."

"I must give her a name," Anya says happily.

Kristov looks disgusted. "A Patronus is not a pet, Anya," he protests. "You are not supposed to be naming them."

"Vhen you have your own Patronus, you can give it no name if you vish," Anya says. "This vun is mine, and I am naming her Hermione after Hermione Granger."

I have to turn away hastily and pretend to be looking for something in my desk. Wait'll I tell Hermione.

Kristov shakes his head and returns philosophically to his own attempt. He hasn't managed anything but silvery mist - and neither have any of the others, even though they're all older than Anya. She really is an amazing witch for her age. Even Hermione (the real one, not the reindeer) had trouble with the Patronus Charm. Still does sometimes, but I wouldn't dare to mention it to her.

A sudden knock on the door startles all of us. Anya's reindeer vanishes as the kids quickly take their seats and begin writing. Our cover story is that they've all got detention and I've given them lines. (Although since I neglected to assign any, they're probably all writing something different. With any luck, no one will actually check.)

I make sure nothing's out of place before I open the door. Bloody hell - Baranov. I try to remember if he's ever shown up in my classroom before, and decide he hasn't. This can't be good.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Baranov says, breezing past me. "I am sorry to be disturbing you in your free time - but I see that you are perhaps still teaching?" He looks inquiringly at the half-blood kids, all industriously writing.

"Detention," I explain.

"Ah," Baranov says, clearly pleased. "Very good. But perhaps now they have been sufficiently punished?"

Great - he wants to talk to me alone. I hope he hasn't suddenly discovered that I spent most of the Christmas holidays hiding in the castle. "Right, off with you," I say sternly to the kids. "And see that you behave yourselves in class from now on!" I give them my fiercest glare, and they scarper.

"It is vell to keep them in their place," Baranov says approvingly. "I am glad you are understanding that now, Professor."

I don't trust myself to answer this remark. "You wanted to see me about something?" I say instead.

"Ah, yes," Baranov says. "An owl has arrived from Viktor Krum. If the good veather holds, ve vill be having our Qvidditch match this veekend. Viktor has assured me that he vill arrive no later than Saturday morning."

"Well, that's good," I say, a little lamely. Why come running to tell me, though? Harris hasn't exactly come across as a huge Quidditch fan.

Baranov doesn't leave me in a doubt any longer. "Vith the letter is also arriving this," he says, pulling a neatly-wrapped parcel from his robes. "It is addressed to you, Professor."

I reach for it, and he hands it over - a bit reluctantly. It feels like a book. "Thanks for delivering this," I say, but Baranov makes no move to leave.

"I find myself vundering vhat Viktor Krum vould be sending to our Chess Master," he says.

He's obviously not going anywhere until I open it. I slit the paper with my wand, hoping Krum's had sense enough not to send anything incriminating. "_A History of Quidditch Leagues in Eastern Europe_," I say, holding the book up so that Baranov can see the title. "Krum mentioned that one to me when he was last here. He thought it would help me to understand the game as it's played here at Durmstrang."

"Ah," Baranov says. His expression is an odd mix of relief and disappointment. "Vell, Professor, I vill leave you to enjoy your reading."

That was definitely weird. Why the hell would Baranov care about a package Krum sent to me. Does he suspect Krum - or me? Either way, we're going to have to be careful.

I want to go and see Hermione, but she's got the Astrology Club this afternoon. (She wasn't exactly thrilled when Baranov asked her to head it up, but she didn't have much choice, seeing as she's the Divination teacher.) I'll have to wait till after dinner to talk to her.

For lack of anything better to do, I pick up _A History of Quidditch Leagues in Eastern Europe_ and settle down on the sofa with it. It's not exactly _Flying With the Cannons_ (now there's a great Quidditch book, if you like), but it'll get me through the next hour.

Two minutes later, I'm staring at the first page in confusion. I check the cover to make sure I've grabbed the right book. The outside still says it's _Quidditch Leagues_, but the title of Chapter One is _The Trouble Begins: The Pureblood Uprising of the Carpathian Mountains_.

That definitely doesn't sound like a Quidditch book - not even if you make allowances for it being a Durmstrang one. I flip through the pages, an idea growing at the back of my mind.

For once, I can hardly wait for a Durmstrang dinner. I want to see the look on Hermione's face when I tell her that Viktor Krum has somehow managed to send me the very book that disappeared from the library.

**Hermione**

"You are very quiet this evening, Professor Dumont," Baranov says, turning to me. "You are qvite vell?"

_Here goes._ I manage a shaky smile and flutter my eyelashes at him helplessly. "It is zee cards," I say. "Zey 'ave been warning me for days now."

Across the table, Kirilov raises a supercilious eyebrow. "Another fall, perhaps?" he says. "You must be more careful around ladders, Professor."

"It is not myself I am concerned with," I fling back at him. "Zee cards warn of deception by a man - or per'aps a woman."

"Or perhaps a Hippogriff," Etilka says in a not-very-muted voice. She and Kirilov exchange smirks.

But Baranov's listening. "Go on, please," he says, shooting an irritated look at the pair across from us. "Who is being deceived?"

I lean forward. "You are," I say. "Great trouble lies ahead for the school."

There's a sudden dead silence at the table. I don't take my eyes off Baranov, but I can tell the others are looking at each other nervously.

"Yes?" Baranov says uncomfortably. "Vhat is this so great trouble?"

I shrug. "Zee cards do not tell me zat," I answer. "Zey only offer zee warning. If you wish to avoid disaster, Professor, you must 'eed it."

Baranov's eyes narrow. He looks speculatively around the table. "So," he says, after a moment. "Somevun there is who cannot be trusted. Somevun on my staff, perhaps?"

I shrug again.

"Is nonsense," Etilka says loudly. "Surely, Sergei, you are not believing this?"

"I think ve had better change the subject, yes?" Kirilov says hastily. "I myself vould prefer to talk about our upcoming Qvidditch match this veekend."

"So would I," Ron says easily. "Don't suppose you've got any predictions for that, Professor Dumont? I wouldn't mind having a bet if anyone's interested."

Dorika and Cezar Gradin immediately take him up on it, and the rest of dinner is devoted to a discussion of Quidditch. The tension slowly dissolves - almost. Baranov's eyes go more than once to Kirilov, and at the end of the meal he leans forward and puts a hand on his arm.

He says something in Bulgarian that evidently displeases Kirilov, for he scowls as he turns away. I see Ron and Dorika whispering, and can only hope he's asked for a translation and that they're not still talking about Wronski Feints.

"He asked Kirilov to come to his office," Ron says, in my room twenty minutes later. "Kirilov didn't look any too pleased, did he? I think you definitely touched a nerve there, Hermione."

"So Baranov suspects Kirilov of deceiving him, but not Etilka?" I say. "Or maybe Etilka's the one he suspects and he wants to talk it over with Kirilov." I drop down on the sofa. "You're quite sure we can't get inside that office?"

"Positive," Ron says. "Anyway, it doesn't matter so much what they say to each other. It's what Kirilov says to Etilka later that's important, and I plan to be in on _that_ little conversation."

I look up. "You do?" I demand. "How?"

"By using a Disillusionment Charm - and these," Ron says, pulling a set of Extendable Ears out of his pocket and waving them at me. "I'm willing to bet he goes straight to her rooms afterwards."

I wouldn't mind being in on that. I start to say so, but Ron's already ahead of me. "You need to stay here," he says. "Supposing one of them comes to you for a better explanation of what you said at dinner? It'd look pretty strange if you weren't here."

"I don't want to be alone with any of them," I say nervously.

"You won't be," Ron says reassuringly. "If I see anyone heading this way, I'll be right behind them." He pulls something else out of his pocket and hands it to me. "Here's something to keep you busy while I'm gone. Krum sent me this book today."

_A History of Quidditch Leagues in Eastern Europe_? "Very funny," I say.

"Open it," Ron says.

I do, rolling my eyes. Then I get a closer look.

"Well?" Ron demands, watching me. "Is it the same one?"

"I think so," I say slowly. "The other one was in Runes, of course, but this could very easily be the translation." I turn a page and read a few paragraphs, feeling a surge of excitement. Whether it's exactly the same or not, it almost certainly contains the information I'm looking for.

I look up at Ron. "Did you say _Viktor_ sent it to you?" I ask. It strikes me as rather an odd coincidence, to say the least.

"Baranov said he did," Ron answers. "I reckon that's why it was disguised - in case Baranov opened it. Pretty clever of Krum - if this actually came from him."

I don't know if I'm more startled by Ron complimenting Viktor or by this last remark. "Who else would have sent it?" I ask.

Ron shrugs. "Dunno," he says. "But you can believe I'm going to ask Krum about it when he shows up this weekend." His face brightens. "Maybe he's one of the strangers Juliska saw."

"I thought you didn't believe in Divination," I can't resist saying. "Anyway, Juliska knows who Viktor is - she wouldn't call him a stranger."

"Be nice if it was Harry," Ron says. "And I _don't_ believe in it. I was just saying."

I think Juliska would recognize Harry Potter - anyone would, unless they'd been living in a cave for the past couple of decades. But right now I think the book's the most important thing. I can't resist a sideways look at it.

"Can't wait to get into it, can you?" Ron asks, grinning at me. "Go on, then. I've got things to do." He pulls out his flask of Polyjuice, grimacing as he swallows.

"I wish you didn't have to keep taking that stuff," I say, watching him. "It can't possibly be good for you."

"With any luck, it won't be for much longer," Ron says. He points his wand at himself, preparing to do a Disillusionment Charm.

"Be careful," I say.

"I'm always careful," Ron answers. I can't see him anymore, but I can hear him moving toward the door. He pauses just before opening it. "You know, I was just thinking about your man in the dark-green robes," he says.

"He's not _mine_," I say. "I don't want any part of him. What about him?"

"If he does turn out to be Simon Parkinson," Ron says. "Then maybe Etilka's Adrian Pucey."

**Harry**

"You know, I nearly went to Durmstrang myself," I say to Jeremy. "I wish I had - I think it would have suited me better than Hogwarts."

Jeremy smirks. "It definitely suited _me_ better," he said. "I didn't have to associate with Mudbloods, for one thing. And let's just say that my education there was far more useful than anything I learned at Hogwarts."

"I heard they actually teach the Dark Arts instead of just Defensive spells," I say eagerly. "Is that true?"

"Oh, yes," Jeremy says. "But I was referring to the extra-curricular learning that took place."

_Excellent. Do enlighten me._ "Like what?" I ask, careful to keep my Draco expression in place. "Were you in a club or something?"

Jeremy motions for another drink instead of answering. He waits for the barman to set it in front of him and move away before he speaks again. "Sixth and seventh-year students at Durmstrang are allowed to travel about on weekends after they've passed their Apparition tests," he says. "A few of us used to go to Muggle villages and practice some of the spells we'd been learning in class. Muggles are expendable, after all, so if something went wrong it didn't matter." He smiles - not a pleasant smile. "I suppose you could call it a club, if you like."

"It sounds brilliant," I say, carefully concealing the horror I feel at his words.

Jeremy eyes me thoughtfully. "So you think you'd have joined our little club, then?" he says. The words are casual, but he's watching me carefully.

"No," I say.

Jeremy's eyes narrow.

"I think I'd have been president," I say.

Jeremy laughs. Like his smile, there's nothing remotely pleasant about it. "Perhaps you'd be interested in another little club I know of," he says. "Only this one's definitely not for schoolchildren."

This is it. "It sounds like it might be exactly what I've been looking for ever since we came back from New Zealand," I answer.

**Ron**

Hermione's mouth was still moving soundlessly when I left her. I knew that would stir her up, but I couldn't resist throwing it out there. It came to me all of a sudden, and - well, it does fit, doesn't it? I watch Etilka covertly as she paces up and down in front of Grindelwald's symbol. I can't really remember what Afrian Pucey looked like - it's been years since I've seen him. The girls all thought he was good-looking, didn't they? You can't exactly say that about Etilka, but then again, I can't think of any bloke I know who'd look good as a woman.

Etilka and I both look up sharply at the sound of footsteps. It's Kirilov - and he doesn't look any too pleased to see her waiting for him. He mutters something in Bulgarian at her, and she answers in the same language.

Damn it - of course they're not going to speak English when they're alone together. I never thought of that. (But neither did Hermione, so there's that.) I wonder if it's going to do any good to listen in on them. I reckon I can do what I did before and write down what the words sound like. I'll show them to Krum when he gets here. I follow at a distance as Kirilov ushers Etilka into his quarters.

The resulting conversation means absolutely nothing to me, and I'm not sure that what I've written down is going to mean anything to Krum. All I can tell for certain is that they're both annoyed with each other - so at least we've accomplished one thing.

I get bored after a few minutes. It mostly sounds like Etilka repeating herself (himself?) and Kirilov telling her to shut up. After a bit more of this I decide to change things up. I take the Disillusionment Charm off myself, shove the Extendable Ears in my pocket, and tap loudly on the door.

There's a sudden dead silence from within. Kirilov calls out something in Bulgarian that might or might not mean "come in".

"It's Rodney Harris," I say, deciding not to risk it. "Have you got a moment?"

After a moment the door opens. Kirilov glares at me suspiciously.

"Hello," I say breezing past him. "Oh, good, you're here too, Etilka. I just stopped by to see if you were interested in getting in on our betting pool - for this weekend's Quidditch match, you know."

Etilka looks away, but Kirilov at once puts his hand in his pocket. "On the seventh-year team, of course," he says. "Vith Grigor and Leonid both, they cannot lose. Anyvun vould be a fool to bet on the sixth-years."

_I'm_ betting on the sixth-years. Not because I think they'll win, mind - I'm doing it because none of the players are friends of Grigor's. "Excellent," I say. "What about you, Etilka?"

Etilka glares at me. "How can you think about Qvidditch now?" she demands.

I look inquiringly at Kirilov. "Something wrong?" I ask.

"No," Kirilov says sharply. "Etilka, you forget yourself."

Etilka looks away sulkily.

"Right," I say, pretending confusion. "Well, I'll leave you two alone, then." I turn to go, just as Kirilov speaks again.

"I am sure Professor Harris vill agree vith me that the Dumont voman's remarks at dinner meant nothing," he says.

"Oh, that," I say easily. "Lot of rubbish, wasn't it? They all do it - the one we had at Hogwarts was always going round predicting student deaths and none of them ever happened." (This, at least, is the truth.)

Etilka looks half-convinced. Mind, if she _is_ Adrian, she (he?) probably remembers Professor Trelawney pretty well.

"It's to get attention, I think," I add reassuringly. "She's not a bad sort, really - just a bit insecure."

"Ah yes," Kirilov says. "Ve have noticed that you seem fond of her, Professor." He raises an eyebrow at me.

I lean closer, deliberately lowering my voice so that Etilka can't hear. "You know what they say about Frenchwomen," I say meaningfully. (I think I'd better leave this bit out when I tell Hermione about it later.)

Kirilov blinks, looking startled.

"Well, I'll say goodnight, then," I say cheerfully. "Bye, Etilka!" I give her a wave over Kirilov's shoulder and hurry down the corridor. I can still feel him staring at me as I turn the corner.

**Harry**

The house is quiet as I let myself in, but there's a light showing from under the sitting room door.

"That you, darling?" Ginny's voice calls. "Come in and see what I've got."

An evening spent in Jeremy Gamp's company has left me feeling almost as though I ought to shower and change before I go near her. I tell myself sternly not to be a prat as I push the door open.

"Come sit down," Ginny invites, patting the space next to her. She's got books and catalogs strewn all over the sofa, and I have to clear a spot for myself before I can sit down.

"They're all baby things," Ginny says unnecessarily as I pick up a book entitled _What to Expect When You're Expecting a Little Witch or Wizard_. "I found them at a shop near our practice field." She opens a catalog and shows me a picture of a pale-blue cot. "This is nice, isn't it?"

"Sure," I say, a little doubtfully. "Where would we put it?"

"He'll sleep in our room at first, but we ought to think about setting up a nursery," Ginny says. "I thought Regulus's old room might do - it's close enough so we'd hear him at night."

"Kreacher might have something to say about that," I say, thinking to myself that Regulus's old room is going to need some extreme redecorating if it's going to be fit for an infant.

"Kreacher won't mind a bit," Ginny says airily. She sets the catalog aside and turns to face me. "Everything all right? I thought you looked a bit upset when you came in."

I put my arm around her. "Everything's all right," I say. "Now that I'm home."

**Ron**

I dismiss my last class and sit down at my desk to wait. He ought to be here any minute.

Sure enough, Kirilov bursts into my classroom without even bothering to knock. "Vhy did you cancel your studies vith Grigor and the others?" he demands furiously.

I return his look blandly. "You're the last person I'd expect to be asking me that question," I say. "Seeing as you're the one who told me to cancel it."

Kirilov's face gets red. "I did not!" he snaps.

I pretend to be confused. "But you sent me a note," I say.

Kirilov glares at me suspiciously. "Vhat note is this?" he asks.

"The one that was on my desk when I came back from breakfast, of course," I say, still pretending not to understand. "You said to cancel the class today. I assumed it had something to do with the upcoming Quidditch match." I shift into apologetic mode. "I'm terribly sorry if I misunderstood. Did you mean for me to cancel it on a different day instead?"

Kirilov's speechless for a moment. I can almost see the little wheels turning in his head as he tries to work this one out. "You vill show me this note," he says abruptly.

"I'm afraid I haven't got it," I say, still apologetic. "You'd said you wanted me to keep quiet about the special classes, so I tossed it into the fire after I'd read it." I throw him another puzzled look, but decide that saying anything else at this point would be overkill.

Kirilov evidently agrees, because he turns and stalks out of the room without another word. I'll bet he's going to Etilka - or is he? Maybe he thinks she's the one who wrote the note - or maybe he's going to blame Baranov. This is going brilliantly. It should only take one or two more moves before they're all at each other's throats.

I can hardly wait. 

**Hermione**

"But Etilka can't be Adrian Pucey," I argue. "She's been teaching here for years."

"She hasn't, actually," Ron says. "I asked Dorika. She's only been here four years." He looks at me meaningfully. "Four years, Hermione. And Pucey disappeared about five years ago. It fits."

Exactly five years ago, as a matter of fact. Ron and I recently celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary. (Very clandestinely, for obvious reasons, but it was still lovely.) But surely someone at Durmstrang knew Etilka before she came here? "She must have been a student here," I say.

Ron shakes his head. "I asked about that, too. She was privately educated - or at least, that's what she told everyone."

"I hope you didn't make Dorika suspicious," I say. "If she happened to mention to Etilka that you'd been asking about her…"

Ron throws me a disgusted look. "I'm an Auror, remember?" he says. "I've had training in this sort of thing. I know how to ask questions."

He does, actually. I've seen him do it. He's casual, almost chatty - but somehow he comes away with the exact information he needs. "I know you do," I say. "I'm just nervous."

"No need to be," Ron says. "Krum ought to be showing up any time now, and we can pass everything we've learned on to him. Or I can, anyway." He grins at me. "Maybe you can offer to read his palm or something."

I give him a repressive look. "I don't think so," I say.

As it turns out, someone other than Viktor approaches me less than an hour later. Only he's not asking about palm reading.

"Professor Dumont, I am needing your assistance," Baranov says abruptly when I open the door in response to his knock.

_"Mais oui,"_ I say. "Anyzing I can do to 'elp…" I close the door behind him, thankful that the Soundproofing Charms are still in place.

I lead the way to one of the tables I use for class. "Sit down, please," I say to Baranov.

Baranov drops into a seat and stares into the crystal ball on the table without appearing to see it. I take the opportunity to examine him more closely. He really doesn't look at all well. "I am thinking you vill know vhy I have come," he says after a moment.

Why on earth would I - oh. Right. I'm supposed to be psychic. Well, it isn't that difficult to guess. "You are worried about somezing," I say. "It preys on your mind so zat you cannot sleep." (Another easy guess - he's got dark circles down to his chin.) I lean closer and put on my best Trelawney manner. "You weesh to know what my Eener Eye can tell you," I whisper. "You weesh to know zee truth - _oui_?"

Baranov nods, looking almost hypnotized. "I must know," he says.

I bend my head in acknowledgement. _"Un moment, s'il vous plait,"_ I say, flicking my wand at the lights to dim them. Another unobtrusive flick makes the window rattle in its frame as though a strong wind is attacking it. When Baranov turns round to look, I silently tap the crystal ball to set it glowing. Simple but effective - and I'm afraid I learned the diversionary tactics from watching my brother-in-law demonstrate products from his joke shop.

Baranov's clearly impressed as he looks at the glowing orb in front of us. "You are Seeing?" he asks in an awed whisper.

I let my eyes roll back in my head. "A traitor in your midst," I say, deliberately lowering my voice a few octaves. "A man - or ees eet a woman? Beware - beware zee spider!" I slump forward dramatically and fall silent.

"Professor?" Baranov says uncertainly. "Professor?" He puts a tentative hand on my arm.

I stay where I am for a moment or two longer before sitting up slowing and blinking at him in confusion. "Ah, Professor Baranov," I say in my normal voice (well, in my normal Delphine Dumont one). "You were asking me to See for you, were you not?"

Baranov gives me a puzzled look. "But you just - " he starts and then breaks off. "You are not remembering?" he says after a few seconds.

I widen my eyes at him. "Was I in a trance?" I ask. "You must forgive me, Professor. Eet sometimes takes me like zat. Afterwards I remember nozzing."

"Nothing?" Baranov asks, transparently relieved.

"Nozzing," I confirm. "I hope zat I was able to 'elp you, Professor."

"I am afraid not," Baranov says briskly. "You did not say a vord. But you must not let it vorry you." He's already on his feet. "I am thinking you must be tired, Professor. I vill leave now and allow you to rest." Suddenly he can't get out of the room fast enough.

I allow myself a small private smile when he's gone. Really, that was rather fun. I can't wait to tell Ron about it when he comes back from meeting with Viktor.

**Ron**

It's ages before Krum and I are able to sneak off for a private talk. (Or before he is, anyway. No one's all that fussed about what I do, but everyone wants Krum's opinion on this afternoon's match.) I finally manage it by asking him if he's a chess player. Krum says he is, and I immediately challenge him to a game in my quarters. The first thing I ask him about is the book.

"I am not sending it from myself," Krum explains. "I am sending it on behalf of Harry Potter."

Oh. That makes a lot more sense, although I still wonder how Harry knew we were looking for that exact book. Maybe it was just a lucky guess.

Krum looks uneasily at the door. "Perhaps ve should at least pretend to play a game, in case somevun comes," he says.

About the last thing I feel like doing is playing chess, but he's got a point. I Summon the board.

"This Dumont voman," Krum says, picking up a pawn and setting it back down again. "I am thinking there is something odd about her. Do you think she could be dangerous?"

I have to choke back a laugh. If Krum only knew… "No, she's all right," I say casually. "You wouldn't know, not having studied it, but Divination teachers are always a bit weird. Compared to the one we had at Hogwarts, Dumont's positively normal."

Krum looks only half-convinced, but I haven't time to reassure him any more. He'll just have to get over it on his own time. "Right," I say encouragingly. "Quite a lot's happened, but I reckon the most important thing is that they've got me teaching four of the seventh-years how to get round wizarding London, so it's seems to me that they've got some sort of invasion planned. Oh, and I think Etilka Varga may actually be an escaped Death Eater called Adrian Pucey. And do you know anything about the vampire Paianjen?"

Krum's mouth opens and then shuts soundlessly. I'll bet I don't hear any more about Divination professors from him today.

**Harry**

"That's definitely all we've got for post, then?" I say to Persimmon. "There wasn't anything else?"

Persimmon's got to be sick of hearing me ask that every day, but she's a nicer person than I am so she doesn't hit me over the head with anything. "That's all of it," she answers calmly. "Can I do anything else for you?"

"Not at the moment, thanks," I say. I wait for her to close Gawain's door - my door - behind her before turning back to the stack of letters that arrived with the morning post owls. I'm sure some of them are important, but none of them are from Gawain, and I'm starting to get worried. Really worried.

_I should have made him take my mirror,_ I think, before remembering that Ron's got the other half. And that's bloody useless, isn't it, because Gawain made us swear we wouldn't use them unless it was an emergency. I wish - for about the thousandth time - that Gawain hadn't been so pig-headed about refusing to ask someone in the Department of Mysteries to look into the idea of enchanting more two-way mirrors for us.

"They've enough to do, and we don't need mirrors," he'd said stubbornly. "Aurors have always gotten by with owls and Patronuses."

Gawain's not much of a one for change. (He also doesn't get on very well with the Department Head down there and I don't think he wants to ask for any special favors.) I suppose I could go to the Department of Mysteries myself, but Gawain's bound to find out and he'll be seriously annoyed.

I wish I knew how Sirius and my dad had done it. Remus said they invented the charm. Maybe George would have some ideas, or -

Or maybe I could go right to the source.

**Hermione**

"Let's hear it one more time," Ron says, grinning at me. "I love when you do your French accent."

I throw a sofa cushion at him. "You've heard it enough," I say. "What do you suppose Baranov's going to do now?"

"Go straight to Kirilov, likely," Ron says. "Only he can't till after the match. Everyone's already on their way down."

I reach reluctantly for my fur robes. I like Quidditch well enough when I know the players, but it's going to be absolutely freezing and I won't understand a word anyone says. "I don't suppose anyone would think it was terribly odd if Delphine Dumont missed the match," I say thoughtfully. "I could say I already knew what was going to happen so I didn't feel the need to watch it."

"They might not think anything of it," Ron says. "But if you think I'm leaving you on your own up here with everything that's going on, you're mental, Hermione." He settles the furs around me firmly and fastens the front of my cloak.

"Professor Harris could miss the match, too," I say hopefully, but Ron shakes his head.

"Not after Krum went to the trouble of sending him a Quidditch book, he can't," he says. "You can sit next to me in the stands. I promise to keep you warm."

He's right about it looking strange if Harris didn't attend, but I can tell he's actually excited to watch the match. I find my gloves and pull them on. "Did you have a chance to show Viktor your notes from Kirilov and Etilka's meeting?" I ask.

"I showed him," Ron confirms. "He said he'd have to spend a bit of time looking them over to see if he could make any sense out of what I wrote down." He grins at me. "Do you know, I _almost_ thought he was going to laugh when I gave him the parchment. His lips twitched and everything."

I don't bother reminding him that I was the one who thought Viktor was grouchy-looking when we first saw him. He isn't, really - he's just extremely serious. "Let's get this over with," I say resignedly.

Ron takes my gloved hand in his and leads me to the door. "I haven't seen a Quidditch match in months," he says happily. "Now, don't try to tell me you're not looking forward to this, Hermione!"

He sounds just like he did when we were first-years. I can't help smiling at him. "No," I say gently. "I won't try to tell you anything of the sort."

**Harry**

"But these are brilliant!" O'Connor says happily, peering into the small, square mirror. "Can I talk to anyone who's got another?"

"Just the person who's got the other half of your pair," I say. "Which in your case is Jackson. He ought to be arriving at Malfoy Manor any second, and then we'll test these out."

The portraits of Dad and Sirius were only too pleased when I asked about the mirrors. "Never thought the Auror Department would be asking an outlaw like me for help," Sirius had grumbled, but he was the one who finally remembered the exact sequence of charms they'd used to enchant the original pair of mirrors. Even with their assistance, it took Ginny and me most of the evening to manage one complete set that worked properly. Jackson and O'Connor agreed to test them out for me.

O'Connor's peering intently into her mirror. She's saying something - not to me; to the mirror. Now she turns and waves at me excitedly.

"Harry, it's working!" she says. "I can talk to Jackson - and he can talk to me! It's just like - like - "

"Magic?" I offer, and she laughs.

"You know, Harry," she says, suddenly turning serious. "We've all been saying for years that we needed a better way to communicate with each other, but you're the only one who's actually done something about it. I think you're going to be awfully good for the Department."

All of a sudden I don't know where to look. "Well, thanks," I say awkwardly. But I can't help feeling pleased. I can use all the support I can get these days.

**Ron**

Krum barely looks at me during dinner, but I'm not surprised when he knocks on my door about an hour later. I take another swig of Polyjuice before I open it.

Krum's already dressed for outdoors. "I must be leaving in a few minutes," he says loudly. "But I vished to say goodbye, Professor, and to thank you for the game of chess."

"Shame you lost so badly," I say cheerfully. "Can I offer you a quick drink before you go?"

Krum raises a cynical eyebrow at me, but he nods. "Thank you, yes," he says. "That vould be most kind of you, Professor."

He scowls at me once the door's closed. "I am not so bad a chess player as you might think," he tells me.

Yeah, right. Whatever. "Were you able to make any sense out of those notes?" I ask.

Krum frowns. "Your knowledge of Bulgarian spelling is regrettably limited," he says. "But I have done my best."

Limited? Try nonexistent. "Right," I say impatiently. "So what did they say to each other?"

"Vun is asking the other if Baranov suspects him - or her; you have not indicated vhich person vas speaking - of being unreliable," Krum says. "The other is trying to reassure, but perhaps not trying so very hard, do you see?"

So Kirilov wants Etilka to feel a bit uncertain. Interesting. "Anything else?" I ask.

"There is something about perhaps somevun else is the traitor," Krum says, still frowning down at the parchment. "They are naming names - Baranov I know, and Andor is Andor Miklos, yes?"

"Yeah," I say. Excellent - we've got them completely confused now. "What else?"

"Here it appears they are interrupted," Krum says. "Somevun called 'that damned fool' is at the door, and they agree they must let him in."

"Oh," I say, feeling a bit put out for Harris's sake. But it's better that they think he's a fool - maybe they won't be so careful around him.

Krum looks up. "This is all," he says, offering me the parchment.

I wave it away. "Give it to Robards," I say.

"I vill, if I see him," Krum says. "On my last two visits I am seeing only Harry Potter. It vill be acceptable if I give this to him instead?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, wondering what the hell's going on. It's not like Gawain to let Harry see Krum without him. Maybe Gawain's ill or something. "How soon are you seeing him?"

"I am to speak privately vith Harry in Gawain Robards's office in the Ministry tomorrow, just as I have done the last two times," Krum answers. He sees my startled expression and adds, "You must not think me disrespectful for using his first name. I have known Harry Potter for many years, ever since ve vere both TriVizard champions together."

"Yeah, I remember - er, reading about that," I say.

Krum reaches into his pocket. "I am nearly forgetting," he says apologetically. "I have for you some reading material in English, just as I promised to bring." He hands me a roll of brown parchment.

I tear it open. Brilliant - he's brought me last Friday's _Daily Prophet_, a _Quidditch Week_, and - bloody hell, the new issue of _The Quibbler_. I glance up suspiciously, wondering if this is supposed to be a joke, but Krum's expression is bland.

"If there is nothing else, I must go," he says, bowing slightly.

"There's nothing," I say. "Thanks for the magazines."

Krum gives me his weird little bow again and leaves. I shut the door behind him and lean against it, thinking. Something's definitely up with Gawain. It's unlikely enough that he wouldn't want to be present for all of the meetings with Krum, but there's absolutely no way in hell he'd ever let anyone use his office when he wasn't there. Not even Harry.

**Hermione**

"They are coming closer," Juliska says. "Soon they vill be here."

"Who?" I ask, even though she's said repeatedly that they're strangers.

Juliska looks up at me apologetically. "This I am not knowing, Professor," she says.

"I know," I say. "But can't you describe zem? Are zey men? Women?"

Juliska frowns and peers more closely into the crystal. "A man and a voman," she says after several minutes. "Vun of each; do you see, Professor?"

"One of each," I repeat.

Juliska leans back, passing a hand across her eyes. "It is very tiring, Seeing," she murmurs. "I vas not realizing, before…"

She does look tired. "You 'ad better go back to your room and 'ave a rest before _le diner_," I tell her.

"But I am sure I could be Seeing more, Professor," Juliska insists, sitting up straight. "I am not vishing to stop now."

"It is not good for you to push yourself," I say firmly. "You go and 'ave a nap, and tomorrow you may look again."

"All right," Juliska says reluctantly.

I continue sitting across from the crystal ball after she's left. It's only when I catch myself staring into its depths that I force myself to turn away. Of course she's not really seeing anything - she only thinks she is. And I really shouldn't be encouraging her.

Still, though - what if someone is coming? A man and a woman… it could be anyone, really. It doesn't have to be Brotherhood members. (_Or vampires,_ my mind whispers, but I push the thought away.) There's no reason to go into a panic. Surely some people must visit Durmstrang for perfectly innocent reasons - look at Viktor.

My first instinct is to go and look it up in the library, but I promised Ron I wouldn't go there without him again and his last class hasn't ended yet. But surely there's someone else I could ask.

And then I realize that there is. I gather up my shawls and hurry to Dorika's classroom. She's marking essays, but she sets them aside and welcomes me in.

"I am sorry to be disturbing you," I say.

"You are not having a vision about me, I am hoping," Dorika says uneasily.

_"Mais non,"_ I assure her.

Dorika looks profoundly relieved. She was probably afraid I was going to try to read the cards for her or something. "Vat can I do for you, Professor?" she asks.

Oh dear. I wish I were better at this. "I was 'oping you could 'elp me weeth ordering more warm clothes," I lie. "My fur cloak is warm, but too 'eavy." (This, at least, is the truth. I think it weighs more than I do.)

"Of course," Dorika says, offering me a chair. "I have here a catalog…"

Several minutes later, I manage to introduce the subject of Krum's visit. "The students, zey were so pleased to 'ave a visitor," I say. "We see very few strangers 'ere, eet seems to me."

Dorika laughs. "Vhy vould anyone come to Durmstrang?" she asks. "Viktor, yes - it vas his own school and he is fond of Qvidditch - but for most others it is too cold and too far away."

Well, there's my answer. I can't say I'm surprised, but a tiny part of me was hoping that she'd say the opposite. I quickly choose some warm woolen wraps from the catalog and make my departure.

I'm surprised to find Ron already waiting for me in my rooms - and already eating something. Even in his Rodney Harris body, he has Ron Weasley's appetite. (Or more likely, it's a feature they share, judging by the size of Harris's waistline.)

"Where've you been?" Ron demands, swallowing whatever he's got in his mouth.

"I went to see Dorika," I say. "I hope no one saw you come in here."

"Relax," Ron says. "I made sure no one was around - but I don't think it'd matter much anyway. Kirilov already thinks Harris and Dumont are having it off. Here, have a cake." He picks up a plate from the table and offers it to me.

"Goodness, where did you find those?" I ask, recognizing the _petits-fours._ "I thought you'd eaten them all."

Ron drops the plate as if it were red-hot. "You didn't set these out?" he asks, dangerously quiet.

I feel as though an icy hand has grasped the back of my neck. "No," I say. "Were they on the table when you came in?"

Ron nods. "I thought you'd put them there for me," he says. "Although I did think you were wasting your time putting them on a plate. You might've known they wouldn't last long enough to bother."

"Don't joke about it!" I say sharply. "They could be poisoned - or - here, give me that plate. I'll find out what's in them." I take out my cauldron and light a flame underneath it. I'll have to decant one of the cakes and - "

Or possibly not. I look thoughtfully at Ron - and it _is_ Ron now. Not Harris. "How long ago did you take your last does of Polyjuice?" I ask.

"Just before I came in here," Ron answers. He looks down at himself. "Bloody hell, it shouldn't have worn off this quickly! Do you suppose they've tampered with that, too?"

"Maybe," I say, a little doubtfully. If anyone knows he's got Polyjuice, we've got bigger problems than I realized.

The thought occurs to both of us at the same time. "Veritaserum," we say together.

Ron nods. "I didn't taste it, and the cakes just smell like chocolate," he says, inspecting one carefully. "That'd explain why the Polyjuice wore off so fast."

"Well, I suppose there's one way to find out for certain," I say. "Let me think… what do I really want to ask you?"

"I thought you were going to decant one," Ron says uneasily, not meeting my eyes.

"It takes a long time," I point out. "If it's not Veritaserum, you should be able to lie to me. And if it is…"

Ron shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. "All right," he says, visibly bracing himself. "Ask away."

I can't help enjoying this, just a little bit. "Let me think," I say, smiling to myself. "Well, I suppose I might ask you about Seamus Finnegan's stag night. You never did tell me what you boys got up to."

Ron looks horrified. "Ah, you don't want to hear about that, Hermione," he says quickly. "Don't you want to ask if I really love you or something?"

"I already know you love me," I say. "What I _don't_ know is what you did with Seamus." Although he's quite right - I actually think I'm happier not knowing. "All right," I say, relenting. "Let's see… do you really like my cooking, or are you just trying not to hurt my feelings when you say so?"

"Trying not to hurt your feelings, mostly," Ron answers promptly. "But it's not that bad, usually. Except for that horrible vegetable thing that you make all the time."

"My vegetarian omelet?" I say, surprised. "I thought you loved that."

"No, I hate it," Ron says, not very apologetically. "Even Pig won't eat it. It's a waste of decent eggs. I never wanted to say so because I was afraid you'd make me cook something instead, and my cooking's even worse than yours."

"Yes, it is!" I snap.

Ron laughs. "Well, you asked," he says. "Want to ask me anything else, or are we both satisfied that it's Veritaserum?"

"I think that'll do," I say. "Now the question is, who left it here, and which of us were they trying to get answers from? And what are we going to do about it?"

"That's three questions," Ron says, pretending to duck when I wave the plate at him threateningly. "It must have been Etilka or Kirilov who left it - or maybe Baranov. And they left it in your room - but they all know I spend a lot of time here, and it was more likely that I'd polish off that lot than you would. As for what we're going to do about it…" He grins at me. "This is going to be fun, Hermione."

"It is?" I say, a little apprehensively.

"Oh, definitely," Ron says. "Luckily, we've got a good hour till dinner and I only had time to eat one cake, so it ought to wear off by then. But we're both going to act as though it hasn't. And we really ought to be generous and offer to share these cakes with the rest of the staff, don't you think?"

I smile back. "It would be the polite thing to do," I say.

"This is going to be brilliant," Ron says happily. "Now, let's plan what we'll say." He looks me over critically. "Would you mind very much changing into different robes first? Those are horrible, even by Delphine Dumont's standards."

"I didn't choose her clothes," I say crossly, jerking my wardrobe door open. "Gawain did." Really, Veritaserum is overrated. It can wear off any time it wants.

**Harry**

"Well?" Ginny demands, turning sideways. "What do you think?"

"You look - er, great," I say.

Ginny laughs. "Huge, you mean," she corrects, pulling out the pillow she'd tucked underneath her robes. "I just wanted to see what I'd look like." She drops the pillow onto the bed and sits down next to me. "Kreacher knows," she says. "I can't think how - I'm sure I haven't mentioned it in front of him."

I think of pointing out that all Kreacher would've had to do is walk through the sitting room to catch on - the pile of pregnancy books and baby catalogs has grown even higher in the past two days - but Ginny's gotten oddly sensitive lately and I never know when something's going to hurt her feelings. "House elves are good at sensing things," I say instead, putting my arm around her. "Don't worry - I'm sure he won't tell anyone."

"He was awfully sweet about it," Ginny answers.

I try to imagine Kreacher being sweet, but it's beyond me. "How?" I ask.

"He brought down a whole stack of baby clothes and blankets from the attic," Ginny answers. "Most of them seem to be embroidered with the Black family crest, but I suppose it might come off."

Some of them might have belonged to Sirius. I find that I rather like that idea. "Good," I say, kissing the top of her head. "I'd have a look at them now, but I'm afraid I've got to go out again right after dinner."

Ginny looks briefly disappointed, but hides it quickly. "Haven't you heard anything from Gawain?" she asks.

I shake my head. I had another meeting with Krum today. It sounds as though Hermione's managing all right at Durmstrang. (Krum referred to her as very odd and was inclined to suspect her of being in league with the Brotherhood, which means she's doing a good job of disguising herself.) I was surprised - but pleased - to hear that Ron thinks they've managed to track down Adrian Pucey. But what really worried me was Ron's report that he's been asked to ensure that the new recruits have a working knowledge of wizarding London.

"Harris is thinking they are meaning to try something here," Krum had said grimly. "He thinks it vill be in the spring."

That fits in with what I've managed to glean from Jeremy Gamp, and it means we've got to move fast if we're going to stop him. For that reason, I managed to corner Malfoy and talk him into switching places again tonight. "I'm afraid it can't be helped," I say apologetically to Ginny. "But at least we can have dinner together."

I'm still thinking of Ginny and her pillow when I meet up with Jeremy two hours later in the Black Pearl.

"What are you smiling about?" Gamp asks lazily, looking up from his glass.

"Nothing," I say quickly, forcing the thoughts of my wife from my mind. She doesn't belong in a place like this. "Just looking forward to a drink, that's all."

The barman slides a glass of firewhisky in front of me before I even get a chance to ask. Draco Malfoy's becoming rather well-known here. Malfoy wouldn't bother thanking him, so I can't, but I do manage a curt nod in his direction as I turn back to Jeremy.

"It's a wonder you can bring yourself to smile with the state things are in," Gamp says irritably. "Did you see this?" He shoves today's _Daily Prophet_ at me, open to an article praising a recent show by Dean Thomas at the new art gallery in Diagon Alley. (Ginny and I went to his opening two nights ago.)

I shrug. "I didn't pay much attention to it," I lie. (Ginny read it out to me over breakfast.)

"They gave him an award," Gamp says furiously. "An _award_ - for his portrait of Albus Dumbledore, if you please. Fitting, isn't it - a Mudblood painting pictures of the biggest Muggle lover of all time."

"He always favored them at school," I say, pretending to be annoyed.

Gamp takes the paper back, Vanishing it with a contemptuous flick of his wand. "The Mudbloods are getting entirely out of hand," he says. "They're becoming far too comfortable with being treated as though they're as good as proper wizards."

"Agreed," I answer. "The question is, what do you plan to do about it?"

Gamp gives me a long look. I stare back, trying to look like I find him admirable instead of abhorrent.

"Oh, I have plenty of plans," Gamp says at last. "_My_ question, Malfoy, is whether or not you've become as complacent as your father."

So Lucius is still being cagey. He knows the Aurors are watching him, and for now he's determined to play the part of a wealthy man content to live out his days on his estate.

"No," I say levelly, still looking him in the eye. "I haven't."

Something flickers in Gamp's eyes. "You're with us, then?" he asks softly.

"Yes," I say.

"And you'll do anything we ask of you?" Gamp persists.

"I've just said I'm with you," I say, mimicking Malfoy's peevish voice to perfection. "What is it you want - gold?"

Gamp laughs softly. "You _are_ just like your father, aren't you?" he says. "No, we don't need gold - we're none of us paupers. Or _Weasleys_."

I force a laugh, even though I feel like punching him. "What, then?" I ask.

Gamp pushes back his bar stool. "Supposing you come with me now and find out," he says.

Heart pounding, I get to my feet.

**Ron**

"Delphine's brought us a proper treat for pudding tonight," I say, smiling round at the other teachers. "Little French cakes - I forget what you call 'em." I look inquiringly at Hermione.

"Zey are called _petits-fours_, and Rodney 'as 'ad more than 'is share already!" Hermione says, giving me a flirtatious look. "I 'ave zem 'ere." She pats the net bag hanging from the arm of her chair.

I watch the faces as she speaks. Is it my imagination, or did Kirilov and Etilka just exchange glances? No, they're doing it again…

The dinner arrives, suddenly making me remember Hermione's vegetarian omelets with fondness. "That was quite a match on Saturday, wasn't it?" I say, hoping to take my mind off the food. "I must admit, I thought the seventh-years had it in the bag till the last fifteen minutes."

Kirilov gives me a nasty look. "If that is your vay of reminding some of us that ve lost our vager vith you, there is no need to continue," he says. "I vill pay you after dinner."

"Actually, I did think you were stalling a bit, Kirilov," I say. "Glad to hear you mean to pay up." I clap a hand over my mouth. "I do beg your pardon," I say, managing to look embarrassed. "I've no idea what made me say that."

Kirilov waves off my apology without looking up, but Etilka looks fleetingly satisfied. Good - they think the Veritaserum is working. I nod imperceptibly at Hermione.

"I would nevair 'ave bet against the sixth-years," she says. "My Eener Eye told me zey would win. I only went to zee match so I could seet next to Rodney." She suddenly appears to realize what's she's just said and blushes. "Zis ees a very 'orrible dinner, ees eet not?" she asks brightly and turns even redder.

Dorika looks like she wants to laugh, and even dim-witted Ivan is looking around in confusion. The dinner plates mercifully vanish, and Hermione reaches for her net bag. "Now for _le dessert_!" she says, beaming at everyone. "Professor Baranov, you must be first. And you, Professor Varga…"

Etilka looks down her nose. "I never eat sveets," she says coldly. "And Sergei, I vould not if I vere you. I vas noticing today that you seem to be putting on veight."

Baranov hesitates with the cake halfway to his mouth. "Nonsense," Hermione says quickly. "Professor Baranov 'as a perfect feegure. 'Ere, Professor, you must 'ave another."

Baranov throws her a gratified look. Scowling at Etilka, he polishes off three cakes in succession.

"Professor Kirilov?" Hermione says, offering the plate.

Kirilov shakes his head without looking up, but Dorika reaches for it eagerly. "It is too late for me to vorry about my figure, I am afraid," she says cheerfully. "But the extra veight helps to keep me varm." She helps herself to a generous handful and passes the plate to Andor Miklos on her left.

I catch Hermione's eye. She looks anxious, but I can't help being amused. We never thought about what would happen if the other teachers wanted some cakes, too. It's bound to get pretty interesting at this table in a few minutes. Pity we can't hang about and watch the fun, but we've a job to do.

"I wouldn't mind a few more myself, but I don't want Delphine to see me eat them," I say to Kirilov. "Will I come with you now to get the money?"

Kirilov looks exasperated. "Yes, come," he says shortly, pushing his chair back from the table.

"I vill also come vith you," Etilka says. "I have something I vish to discuss vith you, Fyodor."

I risk a backward glance at Hermione as we leave the dining hall. Excellent, she's deep in conversation with Baranov. She's got at least the next hour to try and get the truth out of him. I wanted - badly - to handle the questioning myself, but as Hermione pointed out, I was never going to be able to get away from Kirilov and Etilka if they thought I'd taken the Veritaserum. I'll just have to trust her.

**Hermione**

"An excellent idea of yours," Baranov says approvingly, sitting down across from me in his office. "Here ve can be undisturbed." He leans forward expectantly as I pull the Tarot cards from my bag. "You vould perhaps like a glass of vine, Professor Dumont?"

I shake my head. "Eet may interfere weeth zee clarity of zee message," I say. I don't want him to drink either - I don't know what alcohol would do to the Veritaserum. It seems likely that it would just intensify the effects, but I'd rather not chance it. "Eef you would not mind, Professor, we weel 'ave our wine after zee reading."

"Of course," Baranov says readily. He watches intently as I shuffle the cards and begin arranging them rather haphazardly into what I hope looks like the Celtic Cross pattern.

I turn over a card and frown at it. "Something is wrong?" Baranov says anxiously.

I look up. "Professor, you 'ave not been truthful weeth me," I say. "'Ave you?"

"No," Baranv admits after a moment. "You can - you can really tell that from one card?"

I nod and turn over another. "What ees eet zat ees to 'appen in zee spring?" I ask, staring at the card in front of me.

Baranov gasps audibly. "It - it vill get much varmer," he says evasively.

"Again, you are not telling zee truth," I say, turning over a third card. Oh good - the Tower. Even I know that one. "You see?" I say, tapping it with one finger. "Thees means disaster!"

Baranov wilts. "I know," he manages.

I eye him sternly. "Professor, you must be completely truthful weeth me," I say firmly. "I am zee only one who can save you now."

Baranov covers his face with his hands. "Yes," he says in a muffled voice. "I must tell you everything. Vhere must I begin?"

"I theenk," I say, "zat you should begin by telling me about zee people who came 'ere on 'Alloween. Who are zey, and what did zey want from you?"

**Harry**

I follow Gamp's directions and Apparate to a point just outside the gates of the Parkinson estate. He's already leaning against a tree, waiting for me.

"Are we going in?" I ask, nodding toward the house. I really hope Pansy's not in there.

"No," Gamp says, much to my relief. "We can walk from here." Without another word, he straightens and begins walking briskly down a winding footpath.

I follow him. I'm beginning to wish I'd told someone where I was going - this could be a trap. I think I'm safe enough as long as the Polyjuice holds out, but all the same I'm going to take the first opportunity to tell Jackson where I am. (Fortunately for me, I borrowed O'Connor's mirror to tell him something this afternoon and forgot to give it back.)

Gamp and I walk in silence for what feels like several minutes. As near as I can tell, the path leads right around the Parkinson property. We must be directly behind the house by now.

Gamp stops abruptly. "Wait here," he says. The darkness swallows him up within seconds. After a minute, I hear a door open and close. He must have gone inside, then.

Left alone, I pull out my flask of Polyjuice and top off quickly. _"Muffliato,"_ I whisper, reaching into my pocket for the mirror.

But before I can speak into it, I hear a voice calling my name. For a second I think I've grabbed the wrong mirror - but the voice is coming from my pocket.

Gawain made us promise - only in the event of an emergency… "Ron?" I whisper, reaching for the other, smaller mirror. "What's happened?"

**Ron**

The fire's gone out in Hermione's room. It's so cold that I'm half-tempted to wait for her in bed, but I reckon I'd better not in case Baranov takes it into his head to walk her to her room or something. I point my wand at the fire to start it going again and settle down on the sofa to wait.

It's not long before I hear her coming back. She's walking fast - almost running. I'm on my feet by the time the door opens, but she's alone.

_"Muffliato,"_ Hermione says, closing the door behind her and locking it with at least three charms.

"I told you," I say. "The room's been soundproofed. You don't need to - "

"Ron, we have to get out of here," Hermione says breathlessly. "We have to get out of here _now_."

I stare at her. "Okay," I manage. "Er, why?"

"Because Baranov's just told me everything," Hermione says. "And when I left his study, Andor Miklos was hanging about in the corridor. I'm sure he'd been eavesdropping."

_Now_ she thinks of _Muffliato_? "But didn't you - " I start.

"Of course I did," Hermione interrupts. "But don't you see - it looks strange, and if Miklos asks Baranov what we were talking about, _Baranov isn't going to be able to lie to him!_"

Oh, bloody hell. "Okay," I say. "Get your warmest things on. We're getting out of here tonight." I haven't finished my undercover assignment, but Hermione can't stay here and I can't let her go on her own. The Durmstrangers will just have to think we eloped or something.

I pull out my mirror. I can't help but feel relieved that Krum said Gawain hadn't been around. Harry will agree with me - we've got to get out.

A voice answers me at once, but it's not Harry's voice. I peer incredulously into the mirror at Draco Malfoy. "What the hell?" I say.

"It's Polyjuice," the Malfoy voice says. "I'll prove it. Er… the first Chocolate Frog card I ever got was Dumbledore. You were looking for Agrippa - and come to think of it, I don't think you ever did get him."

I barely even remembered that, so there's no way Malfoy would know it. "Harry," I say, relieved. "Listen, we're getting out. There's no time to explain, but we're in danger if we stay."

"Come on back," Harry says at once. "Go to Grimmauld Place and wait for me there. I shouldn't be much longer - I hope."

We're in a hurry, but I can't help asking. "Why are you being Malfoy?" I whisper. Hermione throws me a startled look from the depths of her wardrobe.

"I'm undercover," Harry whispers back. "And if anyone's looking for me, I'm in back of the Parkinsons' estate. Do you need help getting out, or can you manage?"

The Parkinsons? Let's hope he doesn't meet up with Pansy when he's disguised as Malfoy. "We'll manage," I say. "See you soon." I return the mirror to my pocket and look at Hermione. She's wrapped in every shawl she owns, plus her fur cloak, and she's carrying -

"No books," I tell her. "They're too much to manage, unless you thought to bring your old beaded bag with you."

"Just these two," Hermione says stubbornly. "Barty Crouch's diary and the book on secret societies. We may need them."

I can't think why, unless we have to throw them at someone as a diversion, but there's no time to argue. "Fine," I say. "Do a Disillusionment Charm on yourself and follow me to my room while I grab my cloak." I'm certainly not planning on bringing any of my chess books.

"Maybe we ought to wait until everyone goes to bed," Hermione says nervously, as I refill my Polyjuice flask and gather up anything that looks even vaguely incriminating.

"That's when they're likely to go looking for you," I tell her. "It'll be easier to get out now, before they lock up for the night."

"The bridge is probably up," Hermione says. I feel her pass by me on her way to the window, and a second later, the curtain's pulled back. "I can't see the bridge at all - it's snowing too hard. It looks like a real blizzard."

Of course it is. Bloody snow. I'd intended to borrow a broom from the Quidditch changing rooms and fly us outside the wards, but if the snow's too thick I won't have any proper sense of direction. Well, I'll just have to do the best I can. I put on my own Disillusionment Charm and grope about in the air till I find Hermione's hand.

Some of the kids are still up - I can hear them laughing in the corridor that leads to the student dormitories. I hate like hell leaving Anya and the others here, but we can't exactly take them all with us.

Hermione reaches out and squeezes my hand. "We'll come back for them," she whispers.

We're just tiptoeing down the main staircase when a sudden pounding comes from the front door. I grab Hermione and pull her into an alcove.

"Who on earth?" she whispers, sounding frightened.

I don't know. Not Paianjen, I hope.

Doors are opening now, and puzzled faces are peering out. Baranov emerges and sweeps past all of us.

"Sergei?" I hear Dorika say.

He answers her in Bulgarian. I guess he said he'd answer the door himself, because that's what he's doing. I hold my breath as it opens.

"Hello," someone says. "We're terribly sorry to disturb you, but we've lost our way in the storm. Do you think we could come in?"

It's a girl's voice - an English girl. And it sounds awfully like someone I know, but it can't possibly be…

"It's Luna," Hermione whispers incredulously.

"No," I say, but it does sound like her, doesn't it? "What the hell would Luna be doing here?" I ask.

Hermione muffles a giggle that sounds on the verge of being hysterical against my shoulder. "Looking for Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks," she whispers. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Hermione**

"Get hold of yourself," Ron says in my ear. "They'll hear you."

The thought sobers me instantly. "Let's go see," I whisper. It can't really be Luna.

Only it is. She's bundled in furs, but I recognize her as she reaches up a mittened hand to push back her hood. I don't know who the man she's got with her could be - unless he's that Rolf Something-or-other that she went on the expedition with.

"We've been walking for hours," Luna's saying to Baranov. "We couldn't find shelter and we didn't dare to stop in case we froze to death. Then we saw a bridge, and I thought maybe it was a trick of the Nargles, but Rolf said it was a real bridge, so we crossed it and here you were!" She beams at a confused-looking Baranov.

I was right - it is Rolf Something-or-other. "If you don't mind, where are we?" he's asking now.

Baranov appears incapable of answering. Dorika comes to his aid. "You are at Durmstrang Institute," she says. "And you are velcome to shelter here until the storm passes." Baranov starts to demur, but Dorika overrides him smoothly. "Ve vould never turn anyvun avay in this veather, I hope," she says sternly.

"No," Baranov says weakly. "As Dorika says, you are most velcome."

Luna's looking around with interest and paying little attention to either of them. "I always did wonder where Durmstrang was," she says happily. "It never seemed quite fair for them not to tell, when they'd been to Hogwarts!" Her gaze passes over the spot on the stairs where Ron and I are standing; then returns.

_Of course she can't see us,_ I tell myself. _We've done Disillusionment Charms._ But I'll never forget Harry saying that Luna could see through his Polyjuice disguise at Bill and Fleur's wedding. And - well, I don't really believe any of the odd things Luna says, but there's no denying she has some rather unusual powers.

Ron tugs me back into the alcove, evidently thinking the same thing. "Let's watch and see where they take them," he whispers. "When things settle down we can slip in and have a quick word with Luna."

**Harry**

"Put this over your eyes," Jeremy directs, handing me a folded square of white cloth.

I eye it without enthusiasm. "Really, Gamp, is this necessary?" I ask in my most Malfoy-esque tone.

"Put it on," Jeremy repeats. He folds his arms, waiting.

"Fine," I say, heaving an exaggerated sigh. I pretend to drop the cloth and fumble with it slightly. There we are - a nice little Transparency charm.

"Satisfied?" I say, turning my blindfolded face toward Gamp.

"This way," Gamp says.

I take a hesitant step in his direction, pretending to stumble a bit. "Well, lead me!" I say imperiously.

Gamp laughs softly and takes my arm. "This way," he says, leading me toward a darkened doorway in the back of the house. "We're going down some stairs now - there are twelve of them."

There are actually thirteen. Once again, I pretend to lose my footing on the last one.

"Sorry about that," Gamp says, not sounding even slightly apologetic. "Wait there."

I watch from behind my blindfold as he pushes another door open. I catch a quick glimpse of several people seated around a long table before he closes it again. I can't hear anything that's going on inside and briefly consider Extendable Ears, but it's not likely Gamp brought me all this way just to abandon me in Pansy's cellar. I wait.

"Come with me," Gamp says, returning a few minutes later. I let him lead me into the room. I'm longing to take a good look around, but I stare straight ahead, pretending I can't see. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a man in dark-green robes. _Hello, Simon,_ I say silently. _Fancy meeting you here._

"Draco Malfoy," Gamp says, sounding suddenly formal. "You have been brought here because you have agreed to support our cause. Do you swear to uphold the aims of the Brotherhood of Blood and to maintain loyalty to your fellow members upon pain of death?"

"I do," I say carefully, trying to think how the real Malfoy would react. I manage to instill my answer with an equal mix of nervousness and arrogance.

"You may remove your blindfold," Gamp says.

I do so, pretending to blink in the sudden light. I look around with veiled eyes. Besides Simon, I recognize several of Jeremy's friends from the Black Pearl. And isn't that Nott's uncle? And there's Pansy's cousin - nice that they're keeping this all in the family. The room's surprisingly well-furnished for a cellar - there's even a bed and a wardrobe in the corner. Maybe this is where Simon's been hiding out.

Gamp unrolls a sheet of parchment, spreading it out on the table before me. "Sign your name at the bottom," he orders, handing me a quill.

The quill looks horribly familiar. "I'll need some ink," I say, hoping it isn't the same one.

"No," Gamp says calmly. "I don't believe you will."

Damn it. I thought this thing was destroyed when the Aurors searched Umbridge's house. (They found all sorts of Dark Magic artifacts that she'd helped herself to over the years. It would have been enough to put her in Azkaban even if we hadn't had about a thousand other things to use against her.) I take some small comfort in knowing it's Malfoy's hand that'll bear the scar this time.

"Fine," I say, still arrogant. I take my time glancing over the parchment before I pick up the quill. There's something written in a foreign language at the top, followed by a row of rusty-looking signatures. There's Gamp's name - and Simon's - and how about that, Adrian Pucey's. Looks like Ron may have tracked him down after all.

Gamp clears his throat and I hastily scrawl "Draco Malfoy" at the bottom of the sheet. Let's hope no one here is familiar with his writing. The sharp pain starts on the back of my hand before I've even finished the "D".

"The Brotherhood of _Blood_," I say softly, shaking a few drops off my hand and putting the quill down. "Very clever."

"That's not what it means," the Parkinson cousin says. "It stands for pureblood."

I give him Draco's most condescending look. "Obviously," I snap.

Gamp waves the parchment in the air to dry it before rolling it up carefully and putting it into a drawer of the wardrobe. I follow it longingly with my eyes. Wouldn't it be nice to have that to put in front of the Wizengamut?

I take a seat at the table, even though no one's offered me one. Gamp raises an eyebrow, then shrugs and sits down at the head of the table. "Draco here was wondering if we actually planned to do anything about the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers," he says to the others.

There's a ripple of laughter. "So I brought him here," Gamp says, raising his voice to be heard over it. "I thought it might be a good opportunity to let him know that he isn't… alone in his feelings."

I realize I'm holding my breath and force myself to let it out slowly. Gamp looks across the table. "I think a brief history is in order," he says. "Mihail, if you'd be so kind?"

One of the foreign-looking wizards clears his throat. "To explain properly, I must first tell you that the Brotherhood of Blood has been in existence for many years," he says. His accent reminds me of Krum's. "Ve began centuries ago in the Carpathian Mountains. There is not time tonight to tell of our struggles over so many years, but the story is a fascinating one."

I'll bet it is, I think, wondering why it never came up in our History of Magic lessons. Maybe it did, and I was asleep. Or playing hangman with Ron.

"Ve vere here long before the Dark Lord's rise to power - and as you see, ve remain long after his defeat," Mihail continues. "Our aims, however, are the same. Ve vill purify the vizarding race of all those who are not of pure blood."

And there it is. Someone's finally said something we can use as evidence. I realize everyone's looking at me expectantly and fix an approving expression on my face. "Excellent," I say. "How?"

Everyone looks at Gamp. "I am not at liberty to disclose all of our plans just yet," he says, rather coldly.

I glance around covertly and notice some quickly-hidden frustration on the faces of the others. Evidently his aims aren't the only thing the Brotherhood has in common with Voldemort. He never told all of his Death Eaters everything about his plans, either.

"Well, what can you tell me, then?" I ask in Malfoy's most arrogant manner.

Gamp hesitates, then nods at Simon-Parkinson-in-disguise.

"We can tell you that our affiliates in Eastern Europe are completely behind us in this, and will be arriving shortly to take part in the operation," Simon says. "Your position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation is an integral part of this, Malfoy. We'll need your assistance in setting up at least one unauthorized Portkey - possibly two."

"You need Magical Transportation for those," I say. I know Simon's never worked for the Ministry, but surely the department name ought to have given him a clue.

Gamp sighs. "We know that, Malfoy," he says. "But _international_ Portkeys have to be approved by your Department. We've already got someone in Magical Transportation."

_Do they, now?_ "Who?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure he won't tell me.

Gamp doesn't even bother to respond to my question. "All you need to do is see that the official paperwork gets pushed through without anyone actually seeing it," he says.

"Watch out for that Percy Weasley," the man who looks like Nott's uncle says. "He sticks his nose into everything."

"I don't talk to Weasley," I say coldly. "I usually try to pretend he doesn't exist."

Simon smirks appreciatively. "The entire Weasley family - and I count Potter and the Mudblood girl as part of it - are going to be the first ones we get rid of after we're back in power," he says. "I had an amusing little experience with the Mudblood at St. Mungo's a few months ago - ask your dad to tell you about it, Draco."

_You can't hex him without blowing your cover,_ I remind myself. I force myself to turn to Gamp. "When are you going to need this Portkey?" I ask.

"Plans are a bit uncertain," Gamp says smoothly. "But I wouldn't plan on going on holiday anytime in the next few weeks." He gets to his feet. "Meeting adjourned," he says briskly. "Let's go, Malfoy."

I hang back. Draco Malfoy would be afraid of missing something if he left now. "Where?" I demand suspiciously.

Gamp shrugs. "Wherever you like," he says. "Personally, I'm going home."

I follow him up the stairs. Most of the others are leaving with us, but Simon-in-disguise and the Parkinson cousin remain seated. Gamp pauses at the edge of the lawn.

"You understand, of course, that if you betray us, you will die," he says, almost conversationally.

I give him my best Malfoy scowl. "I've no intention of betraying you," I say coldly.

"Good," Gamp says. "Because the document you signed binds you to us irrevocably. Your name, written in your own blood…"

I feel a twinge of uneasiness. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

Gamp smiles. "Remain loyal, and you'll never need to find out," he says. "Good night, Malfoy."

With that, he turns on the spot and Disapparates.

**Ron**

Hermione and I squeeze even further into the alcove as Dorika leads Luna and her friend past us. Luna's still glancing around curiously, and I swear she looked straight into my eyes, but she doesn't react. I let them get well ahead before I grab Hermione's hand and follow them.

Excellent - she's showing them into the guest quarters. It's where Krum usually stays, and while it's not exactly close to my room, it's even further away from Kirilov's or Etilka's.

From our position in the corridor just outside, we can hear murmured conversation for a few minutes. Then Dorika leaves, pulling the door closed behind her.

"I'm going in," I say to Hermione. "Even if Dorika comes back, it'd be natural enough that Harris would be interested in talking to someone from his own country."

"Then I'm coming, too," Hermione says. "I'm not staying out here on my own."

Like I'd leave her. "Just stay Disillusioned till we see if Dorika's coming back," I say. "You know Luna - she'll probably recognize you straight off. In fact, maybe you'd better do a Soundproofing Charm as soon as we go in. There's no telling what's going to come out of Luna's mouth."

I pull off my hat and gloves and shove them into my pockets before taking off my Disillusionment Charm. It's all right to leave the fur cloak on - people walk around in them all day at Durmstrang because they don't heat the bloody place. I can feel Hermione right behind me as I knock on the door.

"Hello," I say, poking my head in. "I'm Rodney Harris - I'm the Chess Master here."

"You're English," Rolf says, sounding pleased to hear it. "I'm Rolf Scamander, and this is Luna Lovegood. We're on a bit of an expedition, and we got - er - separated from the rest of our party."

"They said there was no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Luna says indignantly. "Can you imagine? So Rolf and I left them at the base of the Carpathian Mountains. We were actually on the trail of a small herd of Snorkacks when the storm came, but of course the snow covered their tracks. I can't think how we ended up at Durmstrang - although I've always wanted to see it, so it was quite lucky in the end, wasn't it?" She gives me her vague smile.

"Please sit down, Mr. Harris," Rolf says. I guess my expression's a bit stunned. It's been a while since I've seen Luna.

"Rodney, please," I say. The two of them are on the sofa, so I take the only chair. "Did - oof!" Hermione's just plonked herself onto my lap. I don't mind her sitting there, but she might have warned me.

"Sorry?" Rolf says politely.

"I was just going to ask if anyone had offered you food," I say, recovering.

"A very nice woman - I think she said she was the Potions teacher," Luna answers. "Although perhaps I'm mistaken, because you'd certainly expect a Potions teacher to know what Gurdyroot tea is, and she gave me the oddest look when I asked for it!"

I'll bet she did.

"The Gurdyroot is native to England," Rolf says. "The ground here freezes too early to make a hospitable environment for it. One might be able to grow them in a greenhouse with proper nurturing, but it would require constant care." He catches my eye and smiles. "I'm a naturalist by trade," he explains. "I've studied Herbology extensively."

I want to ask if he's also studied Magical Creatures extensively - and if so, why he's mental enough to think there's such a thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but I think I'll wait till Luna's not around.

The door opens, and the most pathetic looking house-elf I've ever seen creeps in holding a tray. Hermione nudges me. Watch, this'll be her next mission - Durmstrang Elfish Welfare. She can call it DEW to rhyme with SPEW.

"Thank you," Rolf says. He looks pleased, but he hasn't taken the covers off and seen the food yet. Just wait for it.

The elf blinks at him uncertainly and sets the tray down on a table. I'm not sure if the Durmstrang elves speak English or not. It hovers indecisively for a second or two.

"Thanks, that'll be all," I tell it. I reckon it's worth a try.

The elf looks at me for the first time. Letting out a startled squeak, it hurries from the room.

A bit odd, that. I wonder if that elf knows anything about the Veritaserum-laced cakes.

"This is a pretty color," Luna says, admiring a tureen of borscht. Wait'll she tastes it. Although to anyone raised on Xeno's cooking, borscht probably tastes pretty good.

Hermione nudges me again. She's right - I don't think Dorika's coming back. I point my wand at the door to lock it.

Luna and Rolf are both staring at me when I turn around. "Do you know, if you hadn't said your name was Harris I would have thought you were Ron Weasley," Luna says thoughtfully.

Unbelievable. How the hell does she do it? "Luna, it's me," I admit. "I'm Ron."

"Oh, are you? You look quite different, but I suppose people do change," Luna says.

"Not this much, they don't," I say, grinning at her. "It's Polyjuice Potion."

"Oh, that explains it," Luna says calmly. "Are you here investigating the vampires? I told Hermione I thought you might be."

She did? I look at Hermione, but of course I can't see her. "Un-Disillusion yourself," I say. "You might just as well."

"Hello, Hermione," Luna says, beaming. "I thought I spotted you earlier on the stairs, but Ron's put on a bit of weight and I couldn't quite see past him."

"It's not _me_," I protest. "It's Polyjuice."

"People here know me as Delphine Dumont, the Divination professor," Hermione says to Luna. "I'm supposed to be French."

"Oh," Luna says. "I didn't know you spoke French."

"I don't," Hermione says. "I'm not very good at Divination, either."

"It's a pity, because Rolf speaks French very well," Luna says. She turns to her friend, who's been staring at us with his mouth hanging open for the past five minutes. "You could teach Hermione, couldn't you?"

"I - " Rolf manages.

"Sorry," I say to him. "This probably seems a bit confusing, but it's really quite simple. You see, I'm an Auror and I came here undercover to investigate something - "

"Vampires," Luna puts in.

"And my wife ended up missing me so much that she decided to join me, so now she's undercover, too," I finish.

Hermione elbows me. "It wasn't entirely like that," she says, but it really was.

"Anyway," I finish. "We've found out quite a bit - or Hermione has, anyway; she hasn't had a chance to tell me all of it - and as a matter of fact, we're in a bit of danger if we stay here much longer - or Hermione is, anyway - "

"Danger?" Rolf asks, looking nervous. "Are these people dangerous?" He peers anxiously at the food, which Luna's already started in on. "Perhaps you shouldn't eat that, Luna."

I can't help but agree with him, even if it's not for the reason he thinks. "The food's vile, but they wouldn't have any reason to poison you," I assure him. "Anyway, Dorika's all right."

"I think it's quite good," Luna says, finishing her borscht. "They're very decent cooks for vampires."

"They aren't vampires," I tell her. "The thing is, we were just about to escape when - "

"When Luna and I showed up," Rolf says ruefully. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be silly," Hermione says. "You couldn't have known."

"We'll just escape with you," Luna says brightly. "Rolf and I can divert them while you slip out."

"Actually," I say. "That's not a bad idea."

"They can't leave until this storm passes over," Hermione says. "That means we'll have to wait, too."

I don't see why. "They can Disapparate as soon as they're over the bridge," I point out. "So can we." Come to think of it, why didn't they Disapparate as soon as they knew they were lost? Why come here?

"It may not be as easy as you think," Rolf says, answering my unspoken question. "We tried Apparating back to our camp when the snow started getting heavy, but we weren't able to do so. The wards appear to extend far beyond the school grounds."

"That's weird," I say, frowning. "They never used to. When I came back after Christmas I was able to Apparate straight to the bridge."

"I think I can answer that," Hermione says. "Baranov told me he'd added some extra precautions. He thinks one of the others is a traitor - thanks to us, I suppose."

Right then - Plan B. "As long as we've got to wait the storm out," I say to Hermione. "Supposing you tell us what else Baranov said."

"We were right about everything, but it's much worse than we thought," Hermione says. "Etilka, Kirilov and Miklos are all in the Brotherhood of Blood. So is Baranov, sort of, but he seems to be more of a liaison than an official member. They've been recruiting seventh-year students for the past three years - there are at least a dozen of them in their network already. Jeremy Gamp is in charge of recruitment in England - he was supposed to drum up gold and supporters, but he's also working on some sort of plan to infiltrate the Ministry. Baranov didn't know that much about it."

"He must know some of it," I say. "Why else would they be training those kids to learn their way around Diagon Alley?"

"They're supposed to join forces with Gamp," Hermione answers. "Baranov seemed to think they could find jobs working for the Ministry."

Not likely. Not unless the Ministry's looking for people to stand around and look like idiots. Although come to think of it…

Rolf's looking confused. "What's the Brotherhood of Blood?" he asks.

"They're vampires," Luna tells him.

"They're not," Hermione says before I can. "They're - well, I suppose you might call them the Eastern European branch of the Death Eaters. Only they haven't got a Voldemort - or do they?" She looks at me.

"I don't think so," I say. "As far as we know, there are lots of separate factions. They've been around for years and years, and while they were definitely Voldemort sympathizers, they never got to the point of actually joining forces with him. It's only been in the past couple of years that they've caused us any real concern."

"Now that they seem to be spreading to England," Rolf says, nodding. "Yes, I can quite understand that. And they're headquartered here, in the school?"

"Well… yes," I tell him. "And now that Baranov's told everything he knows to Hermione, it's not safe for her to stay here, so we're going to have to get out soon - snow or no snow."

Luna starts to say something, but I can hear another voice - Harry's. Bloody hell, he probably expected us hours ago.

**Harry**

I take a deep breath of the fresh air once I'm well away from the Parkinsons' cellar. Ron and Hermione should be at Grimmauld Place by now. It'll be a relief to have both of them back here safely - and frankly, I could really use their help right about now.

I'm unprepared to find the house dark and silent. They wouldn't have all just gone to bed, would they?

Kreacher pushes open the door leading from the kitchen. "Master is home," he remarks, taking my cloak. "Kreacher's mistress has gone to bed. Better for the baby if Mistress gets plenty of sleep!" He gives me a satisfied nod.

"Right," I say. "Kreacher, didn't anyone else come here tonight?"

Kreacher looks surprised. "Master was expecting a guest?" he asks.

I pull the mirror from my pocket and then hesitate. Maybe I shouldn't try to contact Ron. They might have had to put their return off - maybe Baranov or someone's watching them…

But on the other hand, he did say it would be dangerous for them to stay there.

Right, I'm calling him.

"That you, Harry?" Ron says a minute later. To my relief, he sounds completely normal.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Slight change in plans," Ron says. "Luna's here with some bloke called Rolf, and - "

_"Luna?"_ I interrupt. "What the hell is Luna doing there - looking for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"

"How'd you know?" Ron says. "Anyway, we've got a plan, but it's going to be a bit tricky."

"Just be careful," I tell him. "Get yourself and Hermione and Luna and - what was his name?"

"Rolf," Ron says. "He's a naturalist or something."

"Right," I say. "Get out as soon as you can. Do you need me to do anything?"

"We'll be all right," Ron says. "Only maybe you'd better not wait up."

_Like I'm going to be able to sleep,_ I think.

Kreacher looks past me. "Kreacher could fetch Miss Hermione, if Harry Potter wanted her fetched," he informs the sofa. "Kreacher could fetch Miss Hermione's Wheezy, too."

"I know you could, Kreacher," I say. "But I don't think - "

Hang on. "Ron?" I say into the mirror.

**Hermione**

"Excuse me a minute," Ron says, reaching into his pocket. "Someone - er - needs to speak to me." He moves to the other side of the room.

Luna only nods, but Rolf looks even more startled. I suppose it does look as though Ron's talking to his own hand.

"Whatever we do, we're going to have to do it quickly," I say to them. "They're probably looking for me already."

"If you're talking about the two people who were whispering together near the front door, then you're quite right," Rolf answers. "They said something about the Frenchwoman being _the one_. It didn't make any sense to me, but I expect they were talking about you."

"Oh, is that what they said?" Luna asks.

I look from one to the other. "You speak Bulgarian?" I ask Rolf.

"Not very well," Rolf says apologetically. "I'm much better at Russian."

"Rolf speaks several languages," Luna says proudly. "He's very clever."

"What else did they say?" I ask.

"One of them - the woman - said something about someone not being in her room. I expect they meant you," Rolf says, nodding at me.

Luna giggles. "Rolf, that wasn't a woman!" she says. "It was just a man disguised as one."

"Luna, do you suppose you could say that again when Ron's listening?" I ask.

"All right," Luna says, not sounding even slightly curious. "You just tell me when."

"Then the other - er - man said she was probably with someone called 'that damned fool', and that they could wait and grab her coming out of his room," Rolf continues. "I'm not quite sure who he meant that time."

"That'd be me," Ron says, rejoining us. "Not exactly flattering, but it means they don't suspect me." He looks at me. "How'd you like to get out of here straight away?"

I look dubiously at the window. The snow's falling so hard I can't see anything but a white blur. "How?" I ask.

Ron grins at me. "The easy way," he says. "Kreacher's volunteered to come and fetch us home. He'll be here as soon as I give the word to Harry."

I feel a huge wave of relief. "I never even thought of asking Kreacher," I admit, dropping into the chair.

"Kreacher is Harry's house-elf," Luna says to a bewildered-looking Rolf. She turns to Ron. "Rolf and I weren't exactly planning on going home so soon, but maybe we'd better wait and come back in the spring. It'll be easier to spot the Snorkacks then - that's when they nest, you know."

"Right," Ron says, showing admirable self-control. "Well, then, if everyone's ready?" He pulls out the mirror.

"There's just one thing," Rolf says. "That couple I was listening to - I haven't told you everything they said."

Luna catches my eye. "Will I say it now?" she whispers.

I shake my head. Rolf looks worried, for some reason.

"It didn't make any sense to me at the time," he says. "But now that I've heard your story, I'm a bit concerned. Are some of the students here half-bloods?"

Ron and I exchange anxious looks. "Yeah, a few," Ron says. "Why?"

"Because they mentioned them," Rolf says. "That woman - or whatever she is - said that if there was a spy here, the half-blood kids probably knew about it and that it wouldn't be hard to get them to talk. And I don't mind telling you, I didn't care for the look on her face when she said it."

Ron moves fast, but I'm faster. "You can't just go tearing off like that," I say, blocking the door. "It could be a trap."

"It isn't a trap," Ron says. "Not unless they happened to know that Rolf speaks Bulgarian and that he'd tell me what he'd overheard. I'm going to make sure those kids are okay before I go anywhere."

I care about the half-blood students, too, but this is no way to go about rescuing them. And anyway… "You're turning back into yourself," I point out. "Your hair's already getting redder."

Ron looks down at himself. "Fine," he says, pulling a flask out of his pocket. "I'll just take some more Polyjuice and - " His eyes light on Rolf. "And turn into one of our unexpected visitors," he finishes.

"What?" Rolf says, startled.

"He needs a piece of your hair," Luna explains. "Here, Hermione - are you going to be me?" She runs a hand through her long blonde hair and holds it out to me.

Once again, I'm quicker than Ron. "There's no reason for you to go," he says, frowning at me. "I'm going to ask Harry to send Kreacher straight away, and the three of you can go back to Grimmauld Place with him."

"The two of them," I correct, holding out my hand for the flask. "I didn't come all the way to Durmstrang to go home without you, and you'd better get used to it!"

Ron looks at Rolf and Luna. "You see what I'm up against?" he says, but I can tell he's going to give in.

"Call Kreacher," I say, still holding Luna's hair behind my back.

Ron sighs and pulls out the mirror. "Explain to Harry for us, all right, Luna?" he says. "We'll be along as soon as we can manage it."

**Harry**

"We're in the guest chambers at Durmstrang," Ron says. "Does Kreacher think he can get here?"

Kreacher nods in a bored way when I ask him. "It is only wizards that need directions, Harry Potter," he tells me. "House-elves can find their way to anywhere they is needed."

"Wish I could," I say. "He's on the way, Ron!"

Kreacher disappears at once. I look around the room and realize for the first time that all of the baby stuff is still in full view. I hastily open a cupboard and Banish everything into it, managing to slam the door just as Kreacher reappears.

"Harry!" Luna says, hugging me. "This is Rolf."

Rolf - whoever he is - lets go of Kreacher's arm and offers me his hand. He looks slightly dazed, but I can't tell if it's from the events of the night or prolonged exposure to Luna. "Hello," he says.

I wait for Kreacher to disappear again, but he hasn't moved. "Where are Ron and Hermione?" I ask.

"They did not wait for Kreacher," Kreacher says, looking irritated. "Kreacher wanted to bring Miss Hermione home, but her Wheezy has taken her away."

What? "Luna?" I ask urgently.

"They were worried about the half-blood kids," Luna explains. "They're just going to see that they're all right, and then they'll send for Kreacher to fetch them."

"Miss's Wheezy thinks Kreacher has nothing better to do than go back and forth all night," Kreacher says to the fireplace.

I don't like this. "If they don't contact us within fifteen minutes - " I start, but I don't finish the sentence. Ginny's in the doorway.

"If who doesn't contact you within fifteen minutes?" she asks, tying the sash of her dressing gown. Then she looks past me. "Luna?" she says. "What on earth are you doing here?"

**Ron**

Hermione slips her hand into mine as we make our way toward the wing where the student dormitories are. It feels sort of weird to be holding hands with Luna Lovegood, but I just pretend I'm Rolf and go with it.

The corridors are quiet. Maybe it's all right - maybe Etilka and Kirilov have decided to hold off on questioning the kids till tomorrow. Only then what are we supposed to do? We can't leave them here.

"Hogwarts," Hermione whispers in my ear. "Professor McGonagall would take them in."

Read my mind, didn't she? Maybe there's something to this Divination stuff after all. "Perfect," I whisper back. "Only how are we - "

And then I know. She doesn't even have to say it, but she's Hermione, so of course she says it anyway.

"The Hogwarts house-elves," she answers. "Kreacher can call them for us."

Brilliant. There'll be nothing to it, will there? We can just round up the kids quietly, and then -

And then we round the corner and I see something that makes my blood boil. Etilka's got Anya by the arm and Kirilov is pointing his wand at her threateningly. 

**Ron**

I start toward them, wand drawn, but Hermione squeezes my hand. "Wait," she whispers.

She lets go of my hand and wanders toward them. "Oh, hello!" she says, in a pretty decent imitation of Luna. "Rolf and I thought we'd have a quick look round before we went to bed. We never thought we'd actually _see_ Durmstrang, you know." She gives Anya a wide smile. "You must be one of the students here. Would you mind terribly showing me your dormitory? I went to Hogwarts, you know - I suppose it's very different here."

Anya glances quickly at Etilka. "Now is not a good time," Etilka says between her teeth.

"Oh, it won't take a minute," Hermione says, still smiling. "Rolf wants to see them too, don't you, Rolf?"

"We'd like it very much," I say politely. "Luna's father edits a magazine, you know. I'm sure he'll be interested in hearing about the wonderful hospitality we received from all of you. He might even get an article out of it."

Kirilov looks at me, then - to my complete amazement - steps away. "Go," he says harshly to Anya. He adds something in Bulgarian that makes her turn pale.

Hermione holds out a hand to Anya. "This is very kind of you," she says. "You do speak English, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss," Anya whispers. She doesn't say another word, but she clutches Hermione's hand tightly till we're through the doorway into the student dormitories. There's no password here - you just open the door and go in.

It's late, and the common room is deserted except for a girl who's fallen asleep with her face on an open book. The stack of books next to her is nearly as tall as she is. I nudge Hermione. "Remind you of anyone?" I whisper.

"She isn't in any of my classes," Hermione whispers back, not getting it.

Never mind.

"This is vhat you vould call in England our common room," Anya says in a strained voice. "I am thinking most people have gone to bed."

It's not hard to see why. It's not much of a common room, compared to the one we had in Gryffindor. There's no fireplace, and the chairs are all uncomfortable-looking wooden ones. A single torch burns in a holder on the wall.

"I can still be showing you a bedroom, if you vish," Anya continues. "But ve must be very qviet so that ve do not vake anyvun."

"Never mind the rooms," Hermione says. "We - " She throws me a helpless look.

_"Muffliato,"_ I say.

Anya gives me a startled look. I taught her that charm - and I told her it was non-regulation and she shouldn't let anyone catch her using it.

"Anya, I'm not really Rolf Whatshisname," I say quickly. "I'm Professor Harris." _Only I'm actually Ron Weasley, but let's not get started on that just yet._

Anya backs away a few steps. "I am not understanding," she says, her voice trembling.

Damn it. I should've taken more Harris-potion and just done a Disillusionment Charm to get past Kirilov and Etilka. "You've heard of Polyjuice Potion, haven't you?" I ask. Maybe she hasn't. I never heard of it till Hermione decided we were going to make some in second year.

To my relief, Anya nods. "Professor Balog is telling us about it in class," she says. "It is not allowed, using this potion."

"Well, no, it isn't," I admit. "Only in - er - special circumstances. Which these are."

Anya gives me a suspicious look. "Vhy vould Professor Harris be needing to disguise himself?" she asks.

"It's a long story," I say. "But I can prove who I am. Your name is Anya Petrov, and you've got two younger brothers who are twins. You're my favorite student, and I've been illegally teaching you and the other half-blood kids Defensive magic all year. You're the only one who's managed a Patronus so far. It's a reindeer, and you call it Hermione after Hermione Weasley."

Hermione makes a choking noise next to me. I can't believe I forgot to tell her about that.

Anya's eyes widen. "Only Professor Harris vould be knowing this," she says.

"Because I'm him," I say. "You've got to believe me, Anya! You and the other half-blood kids are in danger, and we need to get you out of here straight away."

Anya looks back at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nods.

"Excellent," I say. "I need you to go and wake the others. Very quietly, mind - you don't want anyone overhearing you. Bring them all here, to the common room."

"Make sure they all bring their wands," Hermione puts in. She looks at me. "Maybe I ought to go with her and help while you keep watch in here."

Anya's eyes go to her. "If this is really my Professor Harris, are you also somevun else?" she asks.

"She's Professor Dumont," I say. "She's helping us." And wait till Anya finds out who "Professor Dumont" really is. She'll probably want her autograph.

Anya's hand goes to her mouth. "Oh! They are looking for you!" she gasps.

No need to ask who "they" are. "That's why we need to hurry," I say.

Hermione holds out an encouraging hand, and Anya, after a little hesitation, puts hers into it. I move closer to the door, watching as the two of them disappear up a narrow staircase.

Better call Harry, hadn't I? I pull out the mirror.

"Ron, what the hell?" Harry says at once. "You've got to get out of there!"

"We are," I say. "Can you ask Kreacher to come to the common room in the student dormitories? Oh, and maybe you'd better send Winky as well."

Harry doesn't waste time asking why. "Okay," he says, a few seconds later. "They're on their way."

There's a sharp cracking noise next to me, and Kreacher materializes. "But you is at Harry Potter's house," he says, giving me a puzzled look.

"No, it's me, Ron," I tell him. "I've taken Polyjuice and - "

Another crack announces Winky's arrival. "Winky's Wheezy is safe!" she cries, throwing her arms around my knees.

Funny, that. How did Winky know me when Kreacher didn't?

The girl in the corner stirs and mumbles something. _Sorry,_ I tell her silently, throwing a Stunning Spell in her direction. She won't remember a thing when she wakes up.

"Right," I say, trying - and failing- to dislodge Winky. "I need your help. Hermione's going to be bringing some kids in here, and we need to get all of them to Hogwarts as quickly as possible. Kreacher, do you think you could get some others elves to help us?"

Kreacher nods and Disapparates without a word.

"I need you to stay here, Winky," I say, even though she hasn't made a move to let go of my knees yet. "Listen, there's one kid who's sort of my favorite, and I'd like you to take her personally, all right?"

"Winky will do it, sir," Winky says fervently.

I look nervously at the stairs. Taking them a while, isn't it? Maybe I ought to have Winky go and check or -

A small figure in a dressing gown appears on the staircase. I recognize Kristov and beckon to him. He's followed by several others. I point Anya out to Winky, who moves forward with a determined look in her golf ball-sized eyes.

"We had a time of it getting to Nikolas without waking his roommates," Hermione says to me in a low voice. "That Grigor sleeps nearest the door, and I was terrified he was going to wake up."

She should have just Stunned him, like I did with the girl in the corner. But I don't want to get yelled at for Stunning an unarmed student (even though it didn't hurt her any), so I don't say it. "Have we got everyone?" I say instead.

Hermione nods, looking around. "Where's Kreacher?"

"Gone for help," I say. "He ought to be back with more elves any second, so we might just as well send the first lot along with Winky and then - "

"Who are you?" a voice says from the stairs. "And vhat do you think you are doing in our common room?"

Oh, bloody hell. It's Grigor - and his three friends are right behind him.

**Harry**

I start to answer Ginny, but the mirror interrupts again. "He wants you to go to the student common room," I tell Kreacher. "And bring Winky with you."

"Winky is a useless elf," Kreacher tells the fireplace. "Kreacher has no need of help from her. Kreacher can fetch Miss and her Wheezy without - "

"Winky!" I call, striding past him. I can feel Kreacher's eyes burning a hole in my back.

"Are they bringing them all here?" Luna asks, once both elves have finally Disapparated.

I stare at her. "Who?"

"The half-blood students," Luna says. "I thought that must be why they wanted both elves."

"I was surprised to hear there were half-bloods at Durmstrang," Rolf puts in. "I'd always understood that they had a strict purebloods-only policy."

"Durmstrang?" Ginny says blankly. "You were at Durmstrang?"

Luna beams at her. "I know," she says chattily. "I was surprised, too. It's nothing like I expected - although we really didn't get to see much of it. They hurried us straight into a room and - "

"Harry," Ginny says, interrupting her and looking straight at me. "What's going on? And where's my brother?"

Her voice is steady, but I recognize the signs of an impending full-blown Weasley tantrum if she doesn't get some answers soon. "On his way here, with Hermione," I say quickly. "Come sit down by the fire and I'll explain the whole - "

"I don't want to sit down," Ginny says, but she doesn't resist when I take her hand and lead her to the sofa.

"What about a cup of tea?" I offer. I manage to catch Luna's eye and she gives me her vague smile before finally catching on.

"Rolf and I will make some," she says, drifting toward the doorway. "Come on, Rolf - you'd like to see Harry's kitchen, wouldn't you?"

"Er - I suppose so," Rolf says obediently. He still looks like he's been hit by a Bludger.

"Right," I say, once they've left the room. "Ron's been at Durmstrang since September, working undercover. It's a long story, but we suspected that a group of Dark Wizards was headquartered there, and he's been investigating. Hermione joined him there just after the New Year. Something happened tonight - I don't know quite what, and damned if I know how Luna comes into it - but I told them both to get out. Kreacher was supposed to fetch them all back here, but Ron was worried about some of the kids - "

"The half-bloods," Ginny says softly. Her hand goes involuntarily to her stomach. "This group they're investigating - are they after the children?"

"I don't know," I say, putting both arms around her. "We hadn't thought so, but it's been hard to get information back and forth lately. We'll just have to wait and see what they say when they get here."

_If they get here._

"Harry?" Ginny whispers. "Shouldn't they have come back by now?"

**Hermione**

Grigor steps forward, drawing his wand.

Ron's got his out, too - but Nikolas is already there.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ he yells. Grigor's wand flies out of his hand and he stares at it stupidly for a moment before letting out an inarticulate cry and launching himself at Nikolas.

I start toward them, but Natalia's already taken Grigor down with a Stunning Spell.

"Excellent, Natalia!" I hear Ron say. "Didn't I tell you you'd get the hang of those eventually? Look out behind you, Petur!"

But Petur's already brought Grigor's friend - Leonid, I think his name is - crashing to the floor. _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ he says happily. "How vas that, Professor?"

Ron starts to answer, but the door behind him bursts open. Kirilov and Etilka, drawn by the noise, have arrived to investigate. Kirilov shouts something in Bulgarian and Grigor's friends (the two still on their feet) answer him in the same language.

Ron glances sideways at me. "Grab Winky and start sending the kids out," he says in a low voice. "I'll handle these two." He turns and launches a jet of red light in Kirilov's direction.

I look around frantically for Winky. She's still determinedly trying to hold on to Anya, who's paying her no notice at all as she gleefully throws Stunning Spells at one of Grigor's friends.

"Winky, take her and go!" I call.

"Oh, I think not," Etilka says from behind me.

I move just in time. "Who are you?" she hisses as the curse goes wide of the mark.

"I might ask you the same question," I snap back.

Etilka looks briefly confused but tries her luck with another jinx. I block it easily - goodness, this is all coming right back to me now even though it's been years since I've had to duel anyone - and send one of my own straight at her.

"Interloper!" Etilka accuses me, barely managing to block it.

I can't resist. "Slytherin!" I retort.

She stares at me, open-mouthed. She's completely taken off-guard, which is why little Anya, evading Winky's clutching fingers, is able to hit her with a neatly-done Leglocker Jinx.

"Brilliant, Anya!" Ron says, stuffing Kirilov's wand into his pocket. "Now let's see you Stun her - oh, well done!"

"Well done," I echo weakly, looking around. Grigor and his friends are all incapacitated, and Kirilov doesn't look like he'll be getting up for a while.

Ron slips his arm around my shoulders. "Kreacher's just arrived, and he's brought friends," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go someplace where we can get a proper meal."

I lean against him, watching as the Hogwarts house-elves gather up the children and disappear with them. Kreacher approaches us as the last pair - Petur and Juliska - vanish from sight.

"Miss and her Wheezy are ready to come home with Kreacher now?" he asks.

I hold out a hand to him. "Thank you, Kreacher," I say. "But I think we'd better go along and explain things to Professor McGonagall first. We can go home after that."

Kreacher deposits us just inside the front door of Hogwarts amid of group of confused-looking Durmstrang students. I look up to see Professor McGonagall descending the marble staircase in what can't possibly be the _same_ tartan dressing gown.

"Miss Lovegood?" she says, managing to look both startled and stern at the same time. "And Mr. Scamander! What is the meaning of all this, may I ask?"

Ron tugs at my sleeve. "You explain," he whispers. "She always did like you better than me."

**Harry**

"So they're all staying at Hogwarts?" I ask, wondering where McGonagall's going to fit another dozen or so kids.

Hermione nods. "For now, anyway," she answers. "Professor McGonagall's sending owls to their families first thing in the morning, and she'll arrange for anyone who wants to go home to be taken there. But the students who want to stay for the remainder of the term are welcome to do so."

"I wonder if they'll Sort them into houses," Ron says. "Bet Anya's a Gryffindor! Did you see her take down Etilka?"

He reaches for a plate of cream cakes that an adoring Winky's just brought in. "My favorites! You wouldn't have believed the food at Durmstrang; it was the most vile - "

"So you've said," I interrupt. There are a lot of other questions I want to ask him and Hermione, but I'll have to wait till I'm alone with the two of them.

Kreacher unknowingly helps me but glaring sternly at a chair and muttering something about all this excitement being very bad for Mistress.

I see Hermione look speculatively at Ginny, but she doesn't say anything.

"I'm all right," Ginny says impatiently. "But I suppose it is awfully late. You'll all spend the night, of course."

"They're going to have to spend more than the night," I tell her. "Ron and Hermione are still undercover, and since they posed as Luna and Rolf - "

"The Brotherhood's going to be looking for them," Ron finishes. He grins ruefully at Luna. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, we aren't fussed about them," Luna says calmly. "There are lots of other expeditions we can go on - aren't there, Rolf?"

"Certainly," Rolf says. "The Great Barrier Reef houses the most incredible specimens of - "

I don't hear what it houses because Kreacher's already ushering them out of the room. "Good night!" Luna calls over her shoulder. "Lovely to see you both again - oh, and congratulations!"

"Huh?" Ron says. "Congratulations for what?"

Ginny's eyes meet mine for a fleeting second. "For getting those kids out of Durmstrang, probably," I say quickly.

"I'm going to bed, too," Ginny says. She smiles at Ron and Hermione. "You two won't have disappeared again in the morning, will you?"

"You're going to be seeing enough of us to make you wish we'd never come back," Ron promises. He had looked terrified, earlier, when Ginny approached him, but much to his relief she'd flung her arms around him instead of hexing him.

"Be right back," I say, following Ginny into the hall.

"How does she do it?" Ginny whispers.

"Who, Luna?" I ask. "No idea. But I think Hermione just might have an inkling as well."

Ginny stands up on her tip-toes to kiss me. "Don't stay up all night talking," she says, even though she knows I probably will.

Ron's just polishing off the last of the cream cakes when I return to the sitting room. "Nice to eat cake that's not laced with Veritaserum," he's saying to Hermione.

I close the door behind me. "What about Veritaserum?" I ask.

"Long story," Ron says. He looks significantly at his tea cup. "You know, Harry, if we're going to be up talking for as long as I think we are, I reckon I could use something a bit stronger than this."

I take a bottle of firewhisky out of the cupboard. He's right - it's going to be a long night.

**Hermione**

"So we decided to escape - that's when I called you, Harry - but when we got to the top of the stairs, Luna and Rolf were just arriving," Ron says. "You know the rest - all but one thing, anyway." He looks at me. "What did Baranov tell you that you didn't want to say in front of Rolf and Luna?"

I take a tentative sip of the firewhisky the two of them insisted I needed and nearly choke. "How did you know?" I say, once I can manage to speak again.

"Because I know you," Ron says. "And also because you said 'it's worse than we thought' and then you just said a lot of things that we mostly already knew."

Oh. Well, that makes sense. "It isn't that I don't trust Luna - " I start, pushing my glass unobtrusively in Ron's direction.

"But we don't know this Rolf person," Harry finishes for me.

"Rolf seems all right," Ron says. "Bit weird, is all. Perfect match for Luna, if you think about it."

"Never mind Rolf just now," I say. "Baranov actually knows a bit more about what's going to happen in England. And we haven't got much time, because they're coming on the first of March." I pat Ron's hand. "Sorry, love - there goes your birthday dinner."

"That fits in with what I learned when I got initiated into the Brotherhood tonight," Harry says.

Ron and I both stare at him. "Sounds like you've got quite a lot to tell us, as well," Ron says.

"Let's hear what Hermione's got to say first," Harry says. "Go on - what else did Baranov tell you?"

"Jeremy's managed to obtain a rather large amount of gold from somewhere," I say. "Baranov wasn't sure of the source, but I thought it was probably - "

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry says. "And you'd be quite right."

"They're using some of the gold to bribe certain people in the Ministry to look the other way," I say. "And Baranov didn't know who they were, so I hope you do."

"I have some ideas," Harry says. "Go on."

"Not to sound like Luna, but where does Paienjen come in?" Ron asks.

That was the other reason I didn't say anything in front of Rolf and Luna - I'd heard _quite_ enough about vampires by then. "Paienjen's supporting them, but cautiously," I say. "The vampires don't want to get involved unless there's something in it for them. However, Paienjen's been more or less confined to a cave in the mountains because of something that happened several years ago. Baranov didn't go into details, but evidently there was some sort of attack on a Muggle village in Romania - "

"I know all about that," Ron interrupts. "Anya told me."

"Anyway," I say. "After that, the Romanian Ministry decided they'd have to take steps to ensure it didn't happen again. Paienjen and his - I'm not sure what you'd call them. Followers? They can't go outside of a certain radius or they'll die. Mind, if anyone wanders in they're fair game, but the Ministry placed strong Deterrent Charms around the border. If a Muggle starts to wander past it, he suddenly thinks he hears an avalanche starting."

"Reckon that'd work," Ron says. "And wizards would know the truth, obviously. So Paienjen and his mates are probably getting pretty hungry."

I nod. "They've been existing on animal blood, but apparently it's not the same." I can't help thinking of that vampire we met at Slughorn's Christmas party. I suppose that's what they were feeding him, but he didn't look at all to me as though he'd become resigned to his new diet.

"What's the Brotherhood promised Paienjen?" Harry asks. "His freedom?"

"Yes," I say. "They'll remove the charms around the border in return for Paienjen's support."

"I wish he were called something else," Ron mutters. "Why's he got to be called _Spider_?"

"Because he has a tattoo of an acromantula on the back of his left hand," I explain. "Lovely, isn't it?"

Harry swallows the last of the firewhisky in his glass. "When they get here, what happens?" he asks.

"Infiltration," I say. "Only they mean for it to happen quickly. Baranov didn't know many details - I don't think they trust him with too much information."

"Easy enough to figure out," Ron says. "If I were planning it, I'd make sure I had at least one person in each of the major Departments. That person would take down the Department Head. If you do it all at the same time, you create complete chaos and it's easy to step in."

"Just like they did the last time," Harry says. "Which means we ought to get Kingsley out of there - if he'll go."

"Yeah, let me know how that goes, won't you?" Ron says. "He ought to be just about as receptive to that idea as Gawain - which reminds me. Where is Gawain?"

"Dunno," Harry says simply. "He's been gone for weeks on some secret mission."

"Then who's Head of the Auror Department?" I ask.

Harry's eyes meet mine. "I am," he says.

**Ron**

Hermione and I both overslept this morning. Not that it matters, I reckon. We can't go anywhere. Hermione was a bit put out to find that she couldn't go back to work.

"I don't see why," she said to me yet again this morning. "No one knows I was with you. I was supposed to be visiting America with Mum and Dad."

_Because you're not going anywhere near the Ministry if there's any chance at all that the Brotherhood's already infiltrated it._ But I didn't say it. I'm not completely mental yet.

"Someone might have checked and found out you weren't with them," I told her instead. "And that same someone might notice if you just happened to come back to work at the exact same time that Delphine Dumont disappeared from Durmstrang. And seeing as Rodney Harris has disappeared as well…"

"All right," Hermione had conceded. "I suppose I'd better give it a week or two."

It'll be longer than that, but like I said. Not mental. Yet.

Besides the threat of immediate death, another thing keeping us in the house is that we've got nothing to wear. Ginny's things are only a bit too short on Hermione, but I can't say the same for Harry's on me. My own wife bursts into hysterical laughter at the sight of me in a pair of his jeans.

"You'd be better off in your Durmstrang robes," she informs me, between giggles.

"I wouldn't," I say. "I never want to wear those bloody things again." I do sort of miss my fur cloak, though. I had to exchange it for Rolf's when I was pretending to be him, and it got left behind at Durmstrang.

"Well, as long as you can breathe," Hermione says, obviously trying to keep a straight face.

I can breathe just fine - once I undo the top button. No one can see if I pull Harry's jumper down over. (Luckily the jumper's one that Mum knitted, so it'd even fit Hagrid.) "Come on," I say to Hermione. "Time for breakfast - proper breakfast."

"And no Polyjuice," Hermione says, slipping her hand into mine. "I really don't think it was good for you to keep taking it for so long. Once we come out of hiding, I want you to go see a Healer and make sure you're quite all right."

"Yeah, okay," I say. Maybe she'll forget. Anyway, I feel fine.

"Nice jeans, Ron," Sirius's portrait says as soon as I walk into the dining room. "You won't even have to roll them up if you have to unexpectedly wade through a river or something."

"They're Harry's," I say. "It's not my fault he's so - hey! You can talk!"

"We can all talk now," Remus says. "Lily and James Potter, meet Ron and Hermione Weasley."

"I knew you two would end up married," Sirius puts in.

_I_ didn't even know I liked Hermione the last time we saw Sirius, so I'd like to know how _he_ knew, but Remus is talking again.

"Harry filled us in over breakfast," he says. "I'd like to hear more about Durmstrang when you have time. It's always fascinated me."

"We have all the time in the world," Hermione tells him. She smiles a little shyly at Lily and James. "It's lovely to see all of you."

"Where is everybody, anyway?" I ask. _And more importantly, where's the food?_

Winky bustles in carrying a tray, almost as though she heard me. "Winky has brought breakfast for her Wheezy and his Miss," she says happily. "Winky wonders if they're hungry."

"Definitely," I tell her. "Eggs, bacon, toast… bring it all on."

"Harry's gone off to work," Lily says. "Ginny's gone up to dress for Quidditch practice, and the other two said something about looking for an atlas in the library."

Wish I could've gone along with Harry - I could have worn the Invisibility Cloak, couldn't I?

"What's wrong with that girl, anyway?" James is asking. "Bit strange, isn't she?"

"Luna's okay," I tell him. "She's just - er, unusual."

"Luna is Xeno Lovegood's daughter," Remus adds.

"Ah," James says. "That explains it. What the hell is a Snorkack?"

"They don't exist," Hermione says firmly.

"I don't know," I say, just to tease her. "Rolf seems to think they do, and he's a naturalist." Actually, Rolf told me in private that he's pretty sure the tracks they were following were made by a Northern Graphorn, but he didn't like to let on to Luna because she was so excited.

Hermione rolls her eyes at me. "I'm going to ask Winky if she'd mind popping over to the flat and getting some clothes for us," she says, pushing her empty plate aside. "We have plenty of things in the wardrobe there."

"Ask her to fetch my jeans," I call after her. Harry's feel considerably tighter now that I've had breakfast.

I look up at the portrait again, but everyone seems to have gone back to sleep except for Sirius. "Don't suppose Harry told you what he was going to do today, did he?" I ask. I keep my voice low, even though I'm pretty sure Hermione can't hear me from the kitchen.

Sirius gives me an understanding look. "Feeling a bit left out, are you?" he asks.

"A bit, yeah," I admit. "I thought about taking more Polyjuice and going back to Durmstrang after we dropped the kids off, but a house-elf saw me - Professor Harris - talking to Rolf and Luna and seeing as Kirilov and Etilka think they were the ones who kidnapped all the kids, well - "

"It might have looked suspicious," Sirius finishes for me. "Shame about the elf - couldn't you have done a Memory Charm on it or something?"

I grin at him. "Not in front of Hermione, I couldn't," I say. Anyway, I never thought of it and it's too late now.

Sirius yawns. "Remind me again who Kirilov and Etilka are," he says.

"Kirilov's the Dark Arts teacher, and we think Etilka's really Adrian Pucey in disguise," I say.

"Really?" Sirius says, brightening. "I knew Adrian's mother at school. She was my first older woman."

I'm slightly taken aback until I realize that it must have been long before she married Mr. Pucey and had Adrian. "Er, right," I say.

"She's a widow, you know," Sirius continues. "And Adrian's an only child, isn't he? I'm sure his mother misses him a great deal - unless, of course, he keeps in touch."

"We've investigated the families of the missing Death Eaters about a thousand times," I say. "They don't know anything - or if they do, they aren't telling."

Sirius waits, raising a painted eyebrow at me.

"That is, they aren't telling the _Aurors_," I say. "But perhaps Adrian's mum would be a little more forthcoming with someone from Durmstrang. Someone like Rodney Harris, the Chess teacher."

"There's an idea," Sirius says. "Still got your Polyjuice?"

"Upstairs," I say, turning to go. I'd better hurry before Kreacher or Winky takes my Durmstrang robes away for washing.

"If Hermione finds out, this was _not_ my idea!" Sirius calls after me. "She always did scare me a bit, even when she was a child."

**Harry**

"Not now, Malfoy," Jeremy says waving me off. "We're in the middle of something here."

"Maybe I could help," I offer. The Bulgarian wizards on Jeremy's either side look annoyed by this suggestion, and one goes so far as to get up and walk away.

"Doubt it," Jeremy says. "Why aren't you at the Ministry, anyway? It's the middle of the day."

"It's lunch time," I point out. "I came in to get something to eat." And it's a meal the real Draco Malfoy is going to have to go without today, but he was only too pleased to offer me a piece of his hair when I told him I'd seen Pansy Parkinson asking for him at the guard's desk.

"So it is," Jeremy says. "That's a relief - for a moment there I was afraid you'd been sacked."

"And then I wouldn't have been any use to you at all, I suppose," I say in Malfoy's sulkiest tone.

The other Bulgarian gives me a disgusted look and goes off to join his friend. Jeremy looks torn between amusement and irritation. "Fine," he says. "You want to know what's wrong? One of my contacts in Eastern Europe just chased a pair of spies out of Dur - er, his workplace."

"Chased" isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe it, but I let that one go. "You nearly said _Durmstrang_ just now," I say instead. "Didn't you?"

"I'll remind you that you're still bound to secrecy," Jeremy says coldly.

"Of course I am," I say. "That's why I want to help. Did your contact know who the spies were?"

"It's a bit odd," Jeremy says, relenting. "Two people turned up last night saying they'd got lost in the snow. Naturally they were allowed to shelter in the castle. My contact was a bit vague about what happened next, but evidently there was some sort of battle and the visitors escaped with a number of students."

"Hostages?" I suggest.

Jeremy laughs, rather unpleasantly. "Hardly," he says.

"So who were they?" I persist. "The two people, I mean."

"A man called Rolf Scamander - evidently he's old Newt's grandson or something - and a girl called Lovegood," Jeremy answers. "Not exactly who you'd expect, but - "

I manage a very creditable Malfoy smirk. "_Loony_ Lovegood?" I say. "I was at school with her - she's completely insane. And the Scamanders are all naturalists - all they care about are bugs and plants and things. I'll bet you anything it was two other people using their names."

Jeremy looks interested. "Really," he says thoughtfully. "That puts a different light on things, doesn't it? Aurors, do you think?"

I shrug. "Probably," I say. "Always interfering, aren't they?"

"They can be dealt with," Jeremy says. "We've already taken care of one in - never mind."

"One what?" I ask. "Auror?"

"The other thing that was odd," Jeremy says, ignoring my question, "is that two other people - teachers - disappeared at the same time. One they were already suspicious of - she was a little too clever - but the other seemed harmless enough. We don't know if they were involved with the two that showed up last night, or if they were taken by them. Needless to say, we'd be very interested in finding them."

I'll bet they would. "So what happens now?" I ask.

"We've had to make a few changes," Jeremy answers. "Mind, if we can track down those two teachers and eliminate them, plans can continue as usual. If not - well, we may have to move a little more quickly than we'd intended. Be prepared for the paperwork on those Portkeys to show up at any time now."

"No problem," I say. "The teachers - or whatever they were - do you have any idea where to look for them?" I didn't quite like the way he said _eliminate_.

"Oh, we're keeping our eyes and ears open," Jeremy says carelessly. "We have a wider network than you might think. I don't expect to have any difficulty in locating them."

"What's going to happen if - _when_ you do find them?" I ask, trying to look as though I'm just mildly interested in th eanswer.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Jeremy says, drawing a finger across his throat. "Really, Malfoy, you do ask the most extraordinary questions."

I don't anticipate any problems with Hermione, but Ron's got to be warned that he can't use his Harris disguise any more. He was already regretting the impossibility of a return to Durmstrang last night, and I wouldn't be surprised if he suggested it again. In any case, I think I've managed to divert suspicion from Rolf and Luna.

And I can't help wondering. When Jeremy said they'd already "dealt with" an Auror, did he mean when they killed Jennings in Bucharest - or is this the reason no one's heard from Gawain in weeks? 

**Gawain - Somewhere in Romania**

It feels as though he's been walking for days. The ancient tunnels extend far back into the mountains. He has told no one where he was going. No one knows where he is.

It goes against everything he was taught during his own training; against everything he insists on for the members of his own staff. Always make sure someone has your back… work with a partner…

He is grimly aware that he's breaking his own rule. But he has always preferred to work alone. Always - ever since his family was lost due to his own carelessness. He will not, now, risk any of the Aurors who have become a surrogate family to him - especially not the Boy Who Lived, the one he secretly thinks of as a son. There is no need for Harry Potter - for any of them - to be involved. Surely he is capable of handling this on his own.

He ignores the voice in his head that whispers insidiously that neither his hearing nor his reaction time are quite what they used to be. He can hear well enough for this - and he need only keep one step ahead of the enemy. Surely, for this, it will be enough.

The path curves again, and he finds himself facing a solid wall. This must be it, then - the entrance. He considers, tapping his wand lightly against the rocks in front of him.

As though his touch had been a signal, the wall suddenly melts away. He peers uncertainly into the pitch darkness in front of him, holding out his lighted wand.

'Extinguish your light, please." The request comes from somewhere in the dark room ahead. The tone is civil, but something about it makes a shiver run down his spine. It's the voice of something not-quite-alive.

"Who are you, and why do you come here?" the voice continues.

"My name is Gawain Robards," he answers, relieved to find that his voice is steady. "I've come to speak with Paienjen."

**Hermione**

I meet Ginny halfway up the stairs. "Off to practice?" I ask.

Ginny nods. "Just a half day today, so I'll be home for lunch," she says. "There's no match this weekend, so we're just doing a few drills."

"Hmm," I say. "Won't you have to give it up fairly soon?"

It was a shot in the dark, but I can tell immediately that I'm right. Ginny grins at me reluctantly. "Must you always be cleverer than everyone else?" she demands.

"Yes," I say. "But it wasn't awfully difficult to figure out, to be honest."

"I don't show yet!" Ginny protests, looking down at herself. "Do I?"

"Not at all," I tell her. "I just happened to notice how awfully solicitous Kreacher was being… and I think that was the first time in your life that you ever went to bed voluntarily when something exciting was going on."

Ginny giggles; then turns serious. "Does Ron know?"

"I haven't said anything," I answer. "And seeing as he's not particularly observant about this sort of thing, I'd say you've got a good four or five months before he notices."

"I don't mind if he knows," Ginny says slowly. "Harry and I just wanted to wait until we knew everything was all right before we went around telling everyone. You know how Mum's going to be."

Only too well. "It'll take some of the pressure off me, anyway," I say, and Ginny laughs again.

"Oh, Hermione, wouldn't it be lovely if you had one at the same time? Just think, they could start at Hogwarts together!" she says in a perfect imitation of Molly.

"You know, it's really a bit scary when you do that," I inform her.

Ginny's laughter follows me the rest of the way up the stairs.

I find Ron in our bedroom changing back into his Durmstrang robes. "You needn't bother," I tell him. "Winky should be here soon with our own things." It looks as though Ginny's been trying out paint colors on the wall in here. Mostly blue - I suppose she thinks it's going to be a boy. I wonder if I'll only have boys, or if - what's that in Ron's hand? He's trying to hide it behind his back…

"Is that Polyjuice?" I say incredulously. "Why, for heaven's sake?"

"Er," Ron says, a little shiftily. "Well, I…"

And suddenly I know. "You were going to go to Hogwarts and check on the Durmstrang students," I say. "Don't bother trying to deny it!"

"All right," Ron says. "I won't."

"Need you be Harris, though?" I ask. "After all, you're well away from Durmstrang now… although I suppose that in the event that some of them decide to go home, word could get back to Baranov and the others. So perhaps it's just as well to take precautions. And I suppose it might look a bit strange to them if Professor Harris just vanished off the face of the earth."

Ron grins at me. "Glad you've got all that sorted," he says. "Right, then, I'll see you later. Give me a kiss before I transform myself into someone you wouldn't be caught dead kissing!"

I reach up. "Maybe I'll come with you," I say against his neck.

Is it my imagination, or does he suddenly look a bit shifty? "I don't think that's such a good idea," he says. "We definitely know that the Brotherhood's on to Delphine Dumont, but chances are they still think of Harris as an innocent victim."

"Victim of what?" I demand.

"Your seductive charms, of course," Ron says, kissing me again and reaching for the Polyjuice. "Look, just let me get a feel for things today, and then you can come with me the next time, yeah?"

"Well… all right," I say reluctantly. "I did want to talk to Professor McGonagall about something, but I suppose it can wait." I hope Ginny's Quidditch practice doesn't take too long. I can only take so much of Luna and Rolf discussing imaginary creatures.

**Ron**

That was a close one. Now I really will have to go to Hogwarts, won't I? Not a bad idea of Hermione's though - I'd like to check in on the kids. Anyway, I don't expect Pucey's mum will take all that long. Luckily for me, Perdita and I had to stake out her house when Adrian first disappeared, so I know exactly where it is.

Bloody hell. I don't believe it. What is Jackson doing here? He's in disguise, but I recognize him straight away. (It's not hard - Jackson's only got two disguises and I've seen both of them.) He's seated on a park bench across from the Pucey's house, pretending to read a newspaper, but his eyes are alert. They touch on me, and I move quickly back into the alley, even though I've done a Disillusionment Charm and he can't possibly see me.

After a minute, I realize Jackson wasn't looking at me at all. I watch as the air next to the spot I was standing in seems to shimmer, then solidifies into the figure of a man. Moved just in time, didn't I?

Who the hell's that, I wonder. Looks foreign, doesn't he? I'll bet he's one of Jeremy Gamp's lot. Jackson certainly seems to know who he is. He watches carefully from behind his newspaper as the man goes straight up to Mrs. Pucey's front door and knocks. The door opens just wide enough to admit him before he disappears from sight. I start to edge closer to the house, but Jackson's doing something - he's pulling something out of his pocket… oh hell, he's calling for backup. O'Connor's his partner; she'll be here any second and she'll more than likely spot me - O'Connor's better than anyone at seeing through Disillusionment Charms - but if I'm really quick about it…

It only takes me a few seconds to edge up to the side of the house and feed one end of the Extendable Ears through the drawing room window.

"Neither of them look at all familiar," Mrs. Pucey's saying. "Is my - is Adrian - is he quite all right?"

"Is fine," a man says. "I am here at his request."

I was right - foreign, isn't he? Wonder what he's showing her. Photographs, it sounds like. I peer cautiously through the window. Mrs. Pucey's holding something in her hand, but I can't make it out from here.

"And he - you - thought they might come here?" she's asking. "Why?"

"Not necessarily," the man assures her. "Is a precaution, only."

Mrs. Pucey frowns, looking down at whatever she's holding. "Not very _attractive_ people," she says, a little peevishly. "I'm quite sure I don't know them."

Mrs. Pucey's no veela herself, but the man doesn't say so. He's got quite good manners for a Dark Wizard.

"What did you say their names were?" Mrs. Pucey asks.

"The man is Rodney Harris, and the voman calls herself Delphine Dumont," the man answers. "Ve are certain of Harris's identity - he is qvite vell-known as a chess player, yes? - but our contacts in France have been unable to find any trace of the voman there."

That doesn't surprise me, seeing as Hermione invented her. But the news that they're looking for Harris worries me a bit.

"I don't play chess," Mrs. Pucey says, losing interest. She hands the photographs back to the man. "Is that all?"

"If they come here, you vill make contact vith us through the usual channels?" the man asks, turning to go.

Mrs. Pucey starts to answer, but I miss what she's saying. Someone's just Apparated in - I heard it. I can't see anyone, but I'll bet it's O'Connor under a Disillusionment Charm. (She's even better at casting them than she is at spotting them.)

I'd like to stay and hear the end of this, but it's probably a bad idea. What with most of the Auror Department probably thinking I'm a wife-deserting bastard and that lot in there thinking I'm a spy…

"Who's there?" I hear O'Connor whisper sharply, just as I Disapparate.

"What are you doing back so soon?" Hermione asks me, five minutes later.

"I missed you," I tell her.

Luna looks up from her book with mild interest. "Do you like wearing that disguise?" she asks. "It's starting to wear off, but it might still fool the Nargles."

Hermione catches my eye. "Come upstairs with me," she says. "Winky's brought our things from the flat."

Luna gives us a vague smile as we leave the room. Rolf's still marking something on a map - I don't think he even noticed I'd come back.

"Well?" Hermione demands, closing the bedroom door behind her. "What happened?"

I end up telling her everything - well, almost everything. I don't let on that I was planning to knock on Mrs. Pucey's door myself and pretend I had a message from Etilka for her. No reason to go into all that, is there?

"It's a good thing you were invisible," Hermione says when I've finished the story. "Just imagine if they'd caught you!" She flings her arms around me, even though I haven't completely finished changing back into myself.

"Don't worry," I say. "No one's going to catch me."

"Anyway, that's put a stop to this Polyjuice business," Hermione says, sounding just the tiniest bit satisfied. "You can't possibly use that disguise again."

"That's the worst part," I say, dropping down on the edge of the bed. "It means I can't go to Hogwarts."

"Maybe that's just as well, really," Hermione points out. "People must already know that the Durmstrang students are at Hogwarts - and they know Professor Harris brought them there. That's the first place they're likely to look for you."

Something's wrong in that sentence, but I can't quite think what. "But the kids," I say. "They won't know anyone - and Anya - she's only a first-year."

Hermione sits down next to me and takes both of my hands in hers. "Ron, she has parents of her own," she says gently.

Well, I know that. "So?" I say.

"So it seems as though you've gotten rather _attached_, that's all," Hermione says. "Anya's mother and father might not want her to be so far away from them - and she might not want to stay."

That's the one thing I'm not worried about - Anya's always wanted to see Hogwarts, and I don't see how anyone could help but like it about a million times better than Durmstrang. I'm just worried that she - and the others, of course - are going to feel a bit strange without me there.

"I'd feel better if I could just check in on them," I say.

Hermione sighs. "I suppose there's one way," she says.

"Forget it," I say. "You're not going without me."

Hermione glares at me. "I wasn't going to say that," she says. "Although they're not looking for _me_. I was _going_ to say that we could disguise ourselves as two other people and send a message asking Professor McGonagall to meet us in Hogsmeade. At least we'd be able to find out what's going on."

Oh. That's actually not a bad idea. It's not the same as seeing the kids for myself, but it'll do. "Okay," I say, hugging Hermione against my side. "Who do you want to be?"

"You decide," Hermione says. "I'll write the note to Professor McGonagall." She gives me a sideways smile. "You know, seeing as she likes me better and all."

**Harry**

"I haven't seen you in days," Kingsley remarks, closing his office door with a flick of his wand. "Have a seat, Harry." He beams at me. "Let me guess - something's up."

I don't want to say anything in the Ministry - not even here, in Kingsley's office. Not till I know who the spies are. "Nothing in particular," I say lightly. "I was just wondering if you were free for dinner tonight. Ginny was asking about you just this morning, and I promised her I'd try and talk you into coming by for a meal." This isn't exactly true - Ginny hasn't mentioned Kingsley in ages - but she'll play along.

Kingsley gives me a long, thoughtful look. I'm not exactly fooling him, and in truth, I never expected to. He's still very much the Auror. "Dinner with the Potters isn't something I have to be talked into," he says, matching my casual tone. "Have you still got that house-elf - the one who's such an excellent cook?"

"We do, and he'll be overcome at the thought of guests," I say, managing a grin. "Ginny and I haven't entertained much since we got married."

"Newlyweds," Kingsley says teasingly, but his eyes are serious. "What time would you like me, then?"

We settle on half-past six, and I head back to the Auror Department, deliberately going the long way round. I don't know what I'm expecting to find, but I don't spot anyone or anything that seems out of the way.

Dawlish is waiting for me when I get back to the Department. "Persimmon says I've got to ask _you_ about taking holiday time," he says, sounding slightly aggrieved. Persimmon rolls her eyes at me from behind him.

I resist the urge to point out that asking the boss - even the acting boss - is pretty much established behavior in any line of work. "When did you want to go?" I ask instead.

"Next week," Dawlish answers.

"Next _week_?" Nice of him to give me a little notice. Not that we'll miss Dawlish particularly, but still. I raise an eyebrow at him. "The schedules for next week have already been given out," I say.

"Sorry," Dawlish says grudgingly. "I hadn't expected - that is, this was sort of last-minute."

I wait, eyebrow still raised.

"I won a holiday," Dawlish says reluctantly. "From a radio program."

"Well done," I say. "Which program was it? A quiz show?"

Dawlish looks even more reluctant. _"Knitting With Madam Yarnell,"_ he mutters, not looking at me. "I was able to supply the correct sequence of 'knit one, purl two'."

No wonder he didn't want to tell me. "Er, well done," I say again, heroically managing to keep a straight face.

"I didn't know you liked to knit, John," Persimmon says. "We might often have exchanged patterns."

"It helps pass the time on stake-outs," Dawlish says sulkily. "Lots of men knit nowadays."

"Course they do," I say heartily. Wait till I tell Ron. "Where are you going?" If he says they're making a tour of yarn shops I might lose it.

"An organic wool farm in New Zealand," Dawlish says, avoiding my eyes. "All right if I go, then?"

I can feel my face getting redder by the second. "Yeah, all right," I say. "I reckon I can get someone to cover your shifts." I escape into my office as quickly as I can.

It's only later - as I'm cursing Dawlish while I attempt to rework next week's schedule - that it hits me. New Zealand… that's where the Malfoys were living. I'm sure it's just a coincidence - but all the same, I make a mental note to check with the Wizarding Wireless Network. I'd feel a lot better if I knew for sure that there really was a show called _Knitting With Madam Yarnell._

**Hermione**

Winky returns quickly with Professor McGonagall's reply. "She can't meet us till after dinner," I say, disappointed. "We might have known she wouldn't leave in the middle of a school day."

"Seven o'clock at the Hog's Head," Ron says, taking the note from me. "Well, that gives us a few hours, doesn't it?" He drops down on he bed, stretching himself full-length, and looks blankly at me. "What do you want to do? And don't say 'read'!"

I look guiltily away from the book I'd been eying and smile at him. "Reading was the furthest thing from my mind," I say, sitting down next to him. "I suppose we could go talk to Luna and Rolf, or - '

I break off in confusion as a thought suddenly occurs to me. No one - except me - knew for certain that the man disguised as Rolf Scamander was the one who'd been passing himself off for months as Professor Rodney Harris. They only had his word for it. Professor Harris could very easily claim he'd had nothing to do with it. That house-elf saw him, but it would be the easiest thing in the world for Ron to pretend he'd looked in to say hello to his compatriots and been overpowered by them.

I hastily bury the thought. He's not going back to Durmstrang. Not if I can help it.

"What're you thinking about?" Ron asks, watching me curiously.

I push a lock off hair out of his eyes. His hair hasn't been cut in months - it's a good thing his mother can't see him. It reminds me of the way he looked all those years ago when we were living in the tent, hunting Horcruxes.

"I was thinking about how crazy in love with you I was at eighteen," I say. "I would have done anything for you."

"Why are you using the past tense?" Ron says teasingly. "Wouldn't you still do anything for me?"

I lean over and kiss him. "Of course I would," I say. _Anything except let you go back to Durmstrang._

**Harry**

"Thank you for a wonderful dinner," Kingsley says, raising his glass in Ginny's direction.

Ginny smiles at him and then throws me a questioning look. Right. Here goes, then.

"Er, Kingsley," I say, not entirely sure where to start. "If you've got time to stay around for a bit, there are a few things I fill you in on."

"I was wondering when we were going to get round to it," Kingsley says, looking amused. "All right - let's have it."

Ginny glances at me again. "Do you need me to leave?" she asks.

"No, stay," I tell her. I look at Kingsley. "That is, if you don't mind."

"She's a Weasley and a Potter," Kingsley says. "I think we can trust her - and unless I miss my guess, she probably knows as much about what's happening in your world as you do."

"Not quite," Ginny says.

I avoid her eyes this time. It wasn't till I explained about the Fidelius Charm that she let me off the hook for concealing the fact that Ron was at Durmstrang.

I launch into my story, carefully leaving out any mention of Ron and Hermione. Kingsley already knew we were keeping a close eye on Jeremy Gamp and Lucius Malfoy, but he's startled when I tell him I've managed to infiltrate the group.

"Well done," he says, a little wistfully. "I wish I might have - well, never mind. So you posed as young Malfoy, did you? Are you sure you can trust him?"

"I haven't told him anything," I point out. "He just thinks we're after Gamp, and there's no love lost between the pair of them. He hasn't any idea that his father's gold is backing the project. And anyway…" I hesitate for a moment. "I don't like Draco Malfoy," I say slowly. "But he gave me his word, and I've no reason to think he'd break it."

Kingsley looks at me for a moment and then nods. "Aurors form some strange partnerships," he says. "But all the same, Harry - keep a close watch on him."

"I will," I say. "But he's not the only one we've got to watch. There are people much closer to home that we need to take a closer look at."

"Who?" Kingsley says, looking startled.

I outline everything Gamp told me about the Brotherhood supporters already in place at the Ministry and the plans for the Eastern contingent to arrive via Ministry-approved Portkeys sometime around the first of March.

Kingsley's jaw drops, but he doesn't interrupt me. "Well, well," he says softly, once I've finished. "Up to the same old tricks, are they? But this time we've had plenty of warning. They won't find it as easy as they seem to be expecting."

I resist the urge to point out that they've evidently found it quite easy so far. "The first thing we've got to do is get you to a place of safety," I say. "You can't remain in the Ministry - it's the first place they'll look."

Kingsley gives me a scornful look. "Just who do you think you're talking to?" he asks. "Fudge? I won't desert my post, Harry. There will be no further discussion."

I knew he was going to take it like that. I glance helplessly at Ginny, and she gives me a small shake of her head. She's right - there's no point in pushing the matter just now. "The other thing we need to do," I say, giving in, "is to investigate every single person in the Ministry, from your personal staff down to Magical Maintenance, to find out who may be on the Brotherhood's payroll. I've already got a team making discreet inquiries."

Kingsley nods. "Who suddenly seems to have a lot of extra gold, who's expressed discontent with the way things have been running at the Ministry, that sort of thing?" he says.

I nod in return. I guess none of this is new to Kingsley - he was around the first time.

"I'll keep my eyes and ears open, too," Kingsley promises. "My secretary generally knows all the gossip - I'll take her to lunch tomorrow." He looks from me to Ginny. "I was rather hoping to see your brother and his wife this evening," he says.

It's Ginny's turn to look thunderstruck. "Were you?" she manages in a strangled voice.

Kingsley grins at both of us. "I was an excellent Auror, you know," he says. "Did you really think I wouldn't put Ron's disappearance together with Hermione's sudden need for a leave of absence? I assume one or both of them has been somewhere in Eastern Europe passing on information to you - and since you seem to have most of the information you need, I further assumed that they'd returned."

I stare at him, feeling at a complete loss for words. Kingsley laughs. "I know, it's classified!" he says. "Gawain always was a stickler for rules. Never mind, Harry. I must say, I've been a bit worried about Hermione, though."

"Hermione's all right," I say. _Or she was, till her pigheaded husband insisted that the pair of them were going out for dinner._

It's not until later, after Kingsley's gone, that I remember about Dawlish.

"_Knitting with Madam Yarnell_ is a real program," Ginny assures me when I mention it to her. "Mum listens to her sometimes. It's awfully boring, though."

Somehow that doesn't surprise me. "Could you owl her and find out if she heard the contest last night?" I ask.

"I could," Ginny says. "But why don't you just ask Lee Jordan? Radio programs all keep transcripts, don't they?"

Of course they do. "Maybe _you_ ought to be running the Auror Department," I say ruefully.

Ginny reaches up and kisses me. "You've had too much on your mind, that's all," she says. "But now that Ron and Hermione are back, the three of us can help you."

**Ron**

Harry didn't much like the idea of me and Hermione going out for dinner, but I don't see the harm as long as we're in disguise. Anyway, it gave us a good excuse to duck out for a bit.

"We can eat at the Three Broomsticks," Hermione says, putting the finishing touches on herself. "I refuse to have dinner at the Hog's Head."

It's not like I was going to insist. "Do I look like someone's dad?" I ask, glancing dubiously at myself in the mirror. I don't look like myself - I don't really look like anyone in particular - but I guess that's the idea. Hermione and I thought we'd pose as anxious parents, assuming anyone asks us.

"If I'm a mum, you're most certainly the dad," Hermione answers. "It'll do well enough. Neither of us looks even slightly memorable."

Exactly. We stop in the library to show off our disguises to Rolf and Luna. "You look like someone's parents," Luna says, getting it at once. She considers. "Probably someone in Hufflepuff. A first-year."

I start to ask why a Hufflepuff first-year - it's always sort of interesting to see how Luna's mind works, isn't it? - but Hermione's not having any of it. "Let's go," she says, glancing anxiously at the door. I think she's afraid Harry'll try to stop us. Only he won't - he's got enough on his mind with Kingsley coming over.

"Kreacher's bringing us trays in here," Luna says, waving us off. "It's nice of him, isn't it? It means we won't have to stop working."

Kreacher isn't exactly doing it to be nice, but okay. "Say goodbye, Rolf," Luna prompts.

Rolf waves half-heartedly; not even looking up. He's even worse than Hermione used to be at exam-time, but I guess Luna doesn't care.

It's freezing in Hogsmeade, but the Three Broomsticks is nice and warm. Rosmerta's still looking pretty good, but I'm careful not to notice in front of Hermione. She doesn't seem to recognize us, which is a good sign.

It's hard to make ourselves go back outside after dinner, but it's nearly seven. The Hog's Head looks even grimmer than I'd remembered. It's also - much to my relief - empty. Aberforth eyes us suspiciously as we push the door open.

"Well?" he barks. "What'll it be?"

"Nothing in a glass!" Hermione says in my ear. I order two butterbeers - bottled - and we take them to a dusty table in the far corner.

Luckily McGonagall shows up soon after we've sat down. "Oh, it's you, Minerva," Aberforth says, sounding marginally friendlier. "Wasn't expecting to see _you_ tonight."

"Good evening, Aberforth," McGonagall says briskly. "I wonder if you might have a private room we could use. I have business to discuss with these two people." She nods in our direction, and I nod back.

"Parents, are they?" Aberforth says. "Why bring 'em here?"

"Why, indeed," McGonagall says, not really answering.

Ab's shaggy eyebrows go up, but he wordlessly shows us into a small back parlor. I'll have to remember that one, although it strikes me that it probably won't work as well for me as it does for McGonagall.

"I never even knew this room was here," Hermione whispers.

Neither did I. I check the room quickly; then do a Soundproofing Charm. I turn to find McGonagall watching me.

"Quite all right, Ronald?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "Professor, is Anya - "

Hermione puts her hand on my arm. "Thank you for agreeing to meet us, Professor McGonagall," she says.

McGonagall smiles at Hermione. "Minerva, please," she says.

Hermione throws me a helpless look. It's not the first time McGonagall's told us to call her by her first name, but neither one of us can quite bring ourselves to do it.

"Oh, yeah, thanks for coming," I say, a little belatedly. "The kids -"

"The Durmstrang students are being well cared for," McGonagall answers. "Owls have been sent to their parents, and I expect to be hearing from all of them within the next several days. However, you must realize that the sheer amount of work involved in assimilating a dozen new students with absolutely no notice is rather daunting."

"We'll pay their school fees," I say, realizing almost immediately that we can't possibly afford it. Hermione kicks me under the table. "All right, I _know_!" I hiss at her.

"Hogwarts would never deny a magical education to anyone on the basis of money, Ronald," McGonagall says sternly. "I was referring to the process of determining their level of education; of finding proper clothing and school books; of - "

"Did you Sort them?" I ask. "Is Anya in Gryffindor?"

McGonagall eyes me. "There appears to be little point in Sorting until we are certain that the students intend to remain at Hogwarts," she says. "We have placed them wherever we had the space. However, you will no doubt be pleased to learn that Miss Petrov specifically requested that she be allowed to sleep in a Gryffindor dormitory."

I knew it. I'll bet she's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts student, too.

Hermione puts her hand on my arm again. "We can help you decide about their classes," she says. "Ron and I taught all of them between us, I think."

"Course we can," I say, even though I can't see as I'm going to be much help. "Have you tried any of 'em on Quidditch yet? Petur's got good reflexes - I think he might make a Keeper."

McGonagall's face lights up. "Really?" she says. "It just so happens that our Gryffindor Keeper's performance has been far from satisfactory lately."

Hermione breaks in before we can get started on Quidditch. "Juliska seems to be rather gifted in Divination, but I'd advise Firenze rather than Professor Trelawney for her," she says firmly. "And the Herbology teacher at Durmstrang told me that Natalia has a real knack with plants."

"Pomona will be delighted," McGonagall says. "Although I really fear this may be her last year at Hogwarts. Her sciatica makes it impossible for her to get around properly, although she insists she'd never leave her precious plants to anyone else."

Hermione leans forward. "Maybe she'd change her mind," she says. "If it was someone she really knew and trusted."

McGonagall looks interested. "Have you someone in mind?" she asks.

"Neville," Hermione answers.

McGonagall and I both stare at her. "Go on," I protest. "Neville - a _teacher_?"

"Why not?" Hermione says. "He's finishing up his Herbology course - and Professor Sprout did say he was the best student she'd ever had - and he's getting married, so he'll need a job."

"He finally got round to proposing to Hannah?" I say, grinning. "Good for him!"

Hermione and McGonagall both ignore me. "I'd never have thought of it, but I do believe Mr. Longbottom might do very well," McGonagall says thoughtfully. "Of course, we'd have to take him on in an assistant post at first so as not to upset Pomona - "

"I'm sure he'd be happy with that," Hermione says.

I can't help wondering where they're going to live if Hannah's still working at the Leaky Cauldron - but I guess there's always Apparition. Anyway, Hermione and McGonagall seem to have settled it between them. They're already talking about the best way to approach it with Sprout.

A thought suddenly occurs to me. "Prof - er, _Minerva_?" I interrupt. (Okay, that felt really weird.) "You haven't sent an owl to Baranov, have you?"

"Certainly not," McGonagall says. "Under the circumstances, I naturally wouldn't have dreamed of informing him. Although I rather expect to hear from him as soon as the whereabouts of the students becomes known." She gives me a severe look. "He's bound to think it rather odd," she adds.

"Exactly," I say. "Which is why I'd like you to write to him straight away."

They're both staring at me. I pull a spare quill out of my pocket and look around for parchment. "I'll dictate the letter," I say, handing the quill to McGonagall. "Here's what I need you to write." 

**Hermione**

Professor McGonagall looks first startled, then grimly approving as Ron dictates the letter to her. Typically, though, she does have some corrections.

"I would never have phrased it in that manner," she objects, holding her quill poised above the parchment. "I would have said that the persons representing themselves as Miss Lovegood and Mr. Scamander were clearly imposters, not that they were 'obvious fakes'. Nor would I have addressed Headmaster Baranov as 'Sergei', considering that I have never had the dubious pleasure of meeting him."

"Whatever you want, then," Ron says. "Just so long as you make it clear that it wasn't the real Rolf and Luna - or anyone else that you recognized - and that you don't know how the kids got there. I don't want anyone getting in trouble on our account." He glances at me. "Including house-elves."

I squeeze his knee under the table. He's come quite a long way, hasn't he?

"What about the kids, though?" I ask. "They'll be writing to their parents, won't they? And they've likely told their story to some of the other Hogwarts students and teachers by now."

Professor McGonagall sets her quill down. "As a matter of fact, they haven't," she says. "I thought it best to tell everyone that we had arranged a sort of exchange program with Durmstrang, and that there was a mix-up about the dates. The Durmstrang students quite understood the logic behind the suggestion."

"Brilliant," Ron says, clapping her on the shoulder. Professor McGonagall looks sideways at his hand, and he quickly removes it, ears turning scarlet.

"I have another thought," I say quickly. "Why not say that you thought you detected a slight French accent when the woman posing as Luna spoke? You could say that's what first made you suspect her."

"But then they'll think it was you," Ron protests.

"They _already_ think it was me," I point out. "And it hardly matters, does it? Delphine Dumont is gone, and she isn't coming back." Although I must admit that I do miss her hair. It was so easy to take care of.

"I - all right," Ron says. "Maybe you'd better say Rolf had an accent, too. Anything to throw 'em off Harris."

I think that's overkill, myself - and so does Professor McGonagall, judging by the forbidding look she gives him. "Anything else?" she asks dryly. "A limp, perhaps? Or a noticeable tattoo?"

"Nope, the accent'll do all right," Ron says cheerfully. "And then I'll need to see the kids. Think you could arrange to bring all of them into the Room of Requirement?"

Professor McGonagall's face turns even more forbidding. "I think not," she says severely.

"Maybe not," Ron admits. "Be a bit noticeable, wouldn't it? All right, then - just Anya." He pulls a familiar-looking bottle out of his pocket.

I eye him just as severely as Professor McGonagall did a moment ago. "I thought you weren't going to take that anymore," I say.

"I won't - after tonight," Ron says. "Probably."

Professor McGonagall's silent, and for a moment I think she's going to refuse. But suddenly her face softens. "You're quite fond of this child, aren't you, Ronald?" she says. "Very well. But no more than ten minutes, mind!"

**Ron**

Excellent - I never thought she'd go for it. McGonagall slips out to ask Aberforth about letting me through the passage while I mix up another dose of Polyjuice. Hermione watches me disapprovingly.

"I hope those robes are large enough for Harris," she says crossly. "Because I'm not sewing them up for you if you split a seam."

She relents enough to agree to keep watch at this end, though - and to help me out with a Hover Charm when I can't quite manage to shift my Harris-body up to the mantelpiece. Reckon I should've waited to take the Polyjuice when I was already up there. Let's hope I fit through the passage.

I hadn't asked the Room of Requirement to turn into anything in particular, but it seems it's decided to be a sort of sitting room. I suppose it'll do well enough. I've just dropped into a comfortable-looking armchair when the door opens.

Anya flings herself on me. "Oh, Professor, I am missing you very much!" she says eagerly. "Have you come to teach us here?"

"Afraid not," I say. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Let's have a look at you."

Someone's given her a set of Hogwarts robes. They're a bit on the long side, but Anya's not very tall. And while McGonagall made a point of telling me that the Durmstrang kids hadn't been Sorted, Anya seems to have found herself a red and gold scarf from somewhere. It's a bit on the bedraggled side - actually, it sort of looks like something my wife might have knitted - but it's in the right spirit. "Proper Gryffindor, aren't you?" I say, amused.

"I am not yet a Gryffindor, but I am _vishing_," Anya says. "Professor, I am liking it here at Hogvarts very much. No vun is minding that ve are half-bloods. Even there are Muggle-borns here, like my mother. And I am liking the ghosts, but not Peeves, and I am liking most of my classes."

I grin at her. "History of Magic?" I ask sympathetically.

"Is boring even here at Hogvarts," Anya says, grinning back. "But I am the best in my class at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Savage is saying that I am a _natural_." She frowns slightly. "Is good, this natural?"

"It's excellent," I say. Savage would know - there's no fooling ex-Aurors. "Anya, I need your help with something." Some people would say I was out of my mind to trust this to a kid her age, but she's all I've got right now. Anyway, Harry and Hermione and I did all right when we were first-years, and Anya's a good deal brighter than I was.

Anya nods immediately. "I vill do anything for you, Professor," she says. "Even I vill try harder to stay avake in History of Magic."

"It's nothing as difficult as that," I assure her. "I just need you to write a letter." I hesitate, wondering who she ought to address it to. "You weren't friendly with any of the pureblood kids at Durmstrang, were you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Anya shakes her head. "If you are vanting me to write to somevun at Durmstrang, I could be writing to Professor Balog," she offers. "I vill tell her about the Potions classes here, perhaps… and then you vill be vishing me to tell her something else, yes?"

I stare at her. "Are you sure you're only eleven?"

"I am nearly tvelve," Anya says, drawing herself up to her full height.

"Unbelievable," I say. "Right, here's what I need you to tell her. You can write about your Potions class - but ask her about Professor Harris first, all right? Tell her you're worried about him because you think the people who brought you to Hogwarts might've done something to him."

"But you - " Anya starts, and then her eyes widen. "It vas not you and Professor Dumont who brought us here," she says. "It vas two people pretending to be you - yes? And even they fooled me, at first, but they are not fooling Professor McGonagall and that is how I am knowing, yes?"

"Er - yes," I say. She's definitely brighter than I was at her age. Brighter than I am _now_, probably. "You might even tell her you heard one of them say he 'took care of Harris', and that's what made you worry. Do you think you can remember all that?"

"Of course," Anya says scornfully. "Is easy. I vill write tonight to Professor Balog, and tomorrow I vill send the owl." Her face brightens. "Professor! There is a place here called the Owlery vhere all the owls are living! A very large man called Hagrid is telling me about it this morning. He is being very kind to all of us, even though I am not yet old enough to take classes vith him."

I feel better, knowing Hagrid's already taken to her. "If you get worried or frightened, you go straight to Hagrid," I tell her. "He's a good friend to have. Don't eat anything at his cottage unless you want to chip a tooth, though." I glance at my watch. I'd better get back - I only took a half-dose of Polyjuice.

"Professor, vill I see you again?" Anya asks anxiously.

I pat her shoulder. "Yes, but I don't know when exactly," I tell her. "Just be careful and study hard. You can trust Professor McGonagall, too, but it's probably better not to tell her about the letter you're going to write."

Anya manages a grin. "I am knowing about teachers like Professor McGonagall," she says. "She is very kind, but perhaps she is liking to follow the rules, yes?"

**Harry**

Ginny's given up and gone to bed by the time I hear Hermione and Ron in the hall.

"Nice disguises," I say, looking them over. "You look like someone's parents."

"I'd say _you're_ going to be someone's parent before I am," Ron says, neatly removing the disguise with a flick of his wand. "Am I right, Harry?"

Hermione gives him a startled look. "How did you know?" she demands. "I haven't even had a chance to tell you yet!"

"I have my ways," Ron says mysteriously. Then he grins at us. "And I found a half-knitted pair of booties under a sofa cushion that looked like they'd be much too small for Harry." He claps me on the shoulder. "Congratulations, mate! When's she having it?"

"Not till the autumn," I say. "And mind you don't - "

"Tell anyone, I know," Ron says morosely. "Who'm I going to tell?"

"Come on into the sitting room and have a drink with me before you go to bed," I say. I have a feeling he's been up to something, and I want to find out what it is. "You don't mind, do you, Hermione? It's just Auror stuff."

"Department can't do without me, can it?" Ron says, looking pleased. He bends down and kisses Hermione. "See you in a bit, love. Mind you fluff my pillow for me."

Hermione rolls her eyes at him. "Good night, Harry," she says pointedly and heads up the stairs.

I wait till I'm sure she's not coming back before I usher Ron into the sitting room. "Nice dinner?" I say, pouring us each a glass of wine.

"Not bad," Ron says evasively. "How did Kingsley take the news?"

"Like we thought," I admit. "He won't go. But he's going to help us keep an eye out for traitors. He said his secretary generally knows everything that's going on."

"She does like her gossip," Ron agrees, grinning. "She's not in it with Daisy from the Ministry Café, though - that woman knows everything that's happening. She and I have had quite a few chats."

I try to think which of the Café workers is called Daisy. "How do you know her?" I ask.

"She likes me," Ron says simply. "I appreciate good food more than anyone else in the Ministry - she told me so herself." He takes pity on me. "She's the woman around my mum's age who usually sits by the till."

Oh, that one. I never knew her name before. "Right," I say. "Do you suppose she'd talk to me?"

"Dunno," Ron says. "She thinks you don't take a proper lunch hour often enough."

"I'll mend my ways," I say dryly. "Anyway, the main thing is that at least Kingsley knows what's going on." I set my glass down and look at him. "Which is more than I do. Fancy telling me what you were up to tonight?"

Ron glances nervously at the door. "_Muffliato_," he says. "Rolf and Luna still up?"

"They're all involved in whatever they're working on in the library," I tell him. "They wouldn't notice if a whole herd of Snorkacks raced past them."

"All right, then," Ron says. He sets his glass down and looks at me. "I'm setting things up so I can go back to Durmstrang."

Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't that. "You don't have to," I start.

"I do, and you know it," Ron interrupts. "It's not that I want to, Harry. It's cold, the food's vile, and it's likely to be more than a little dangerous. But it's essential that we have someone on the spot. I know you've got Jeremy Gamp's ear, but what if Jeremy doesn't know everything? Or what if he's feeding Malfoy the wrong information?"

I'm silent for a moment. The thing is, he's right. It would be better all round if we had someone at Durmstrang. But all the same…

"It's too risky," I protest. "They've already marked Harris as a traitor."

Ron shakes his head. "I've taken care of that," he says. "If I can play it off the right way, I think I can make them believe Harris was an innocent victim. Let me tell you what I've done so far."

I'm half-convinced by the time he finishes. If it works - if he can bring it off…

"I'll wait another three or four days to make sure the message gets out, and then I can give it a go," Ron says. "The only thing I haven't figured out is where I can say Harris has been. Maybe my best bet is to pretend I've been hit by a Memory Charm and I don't remember a thing." He stares into the fireplace, thinking. "What do you reckon, Harry?"

"What about Hermione?" I ask grimly. "Told her yet?"

Ron looks nervous for the first time. "I haven't quite got round to that yet," he admits. "I'm not expecting her to take it well."

We both glance up, startled, as the door opens. Luna pokes her head in, beaming at us. "We're off," she announces. "Thank you for the hospitality, Harry."

"What, _now_?" I ask. Even for Luna, this is an odd time to be setting out on a journey. "Where are you going?"

"The Great Barrier Reef," Rolf says from behind her. "We thought we'd be less noticeable leaving here at night - although it might very well be daylight in Australia. Luna, where did I put those time calculations?"

"They're in your hand," Luna says, patting him kindly on the shoulder. She turns back to me and Ron. "Please say goodbye to Ginny and Hermione for us. I expect we'll be back in England before Ginny has the baby."

"Some secret, that," Ron says to me in an undertone. "Why the Great Barrier Reef, Luna?"

"There are some rare sea plant specimens there unlike any others in the world," Rolf explains. "The underwater flora - "

He goes on in this vein for some time. Ron's eyes are glazing over by the time he finishes.

"The only bad thing is that we've lost our tent and all of our supplies," Luna says. "We had to abandon them when we got lost in the snow. But I suppose we won't want a tent in the sea, anyway."

"We can rent a small boat when we get there," Rolf says. "And I understand there are several lodging houses in the area, although - "

Ron's eyes have lost their sleepy look. "Do you remember anything about where you left your tent?" he demands, sitting up straight.

"I know precisely where it is," Rolf says. "I have the coordinates somewhere…" He rummages through his pockets, frowning slightly.

"You left that bit of paper in the tent," Luna says. "But I remember. It was just at the base of the mountains, and when you looked straight up, the mountain directly ahead almost looked like a bear's head."

"We can see that it's taken care of for you," Ron says, glancing sideways at me. "Can't we, Harry?"

"Er, yes," I say quickly. "Nothing easier."

Ron turns to me once they've left. "There we are, Harry!" he says eagerly. "The fake Luna and Rolf kidnapped Harris, did a Memory Charm on him, and left him in their tent. He didn't remember who he was for days - but once the charm wore off, naturally he came straight back to Durmstrang. That ought to work, don't you think?"

"Maybe," I concede. "Why don't you run it past Hermione and see what she thinks?"

Ron throws a sofa cushion at me, but I duck in time.

"Harry?" he says. "What do you reckon about those two? Are they _together_, or just together?"

"Who, Rolf and Luna?" I say. "No idea. Ginny said she gave them adjoining rooms and left them to work it out for themselves."

**Hermione**

"I've arranged all of these in order of importance," I say, waving several feet of parchment in Ron's direction. "Or do you think I ought to put them in order of age? Some of them are centuries old."

"Huh?" Ron says, blinking at me.

Honestly. I've spent the last two days finally finishing all of the research Basil wanted me to do on the ancient pureblood laws that (in my opinion) need to be repealed without delay. And Ron's been helping me (sort of), so I really don't think it's too much to expect that he might actually know what I'm talking about.

"The laws," I say patiently. "What have we been talking about for two days?"

"Oh, right," Ron says. "Sorry. Whatever you think, love."

I resist the urge to throw something large and heavy at him. He's clearly got something on his mind. I set the parchment aside and curl up next to him on the sofa.

"Want to tell me about it?" I ask.

Ron immediately looks defensive. "What?" he says.

"What you've been worrying about for the past two days," I say.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Ron says, but I know better.

I edge closer, and he reaches for me. _Much better,_ I think.

"I can tell you've got something on your mind," I say, snuggling. "Is it the Durmstrang students? I'm sure they're all right."

"It's not the kids," Ron says with a sigh. "It's - oh hell, Hermione, I've been trying to think how I can explain this - "

The door opens. _Damn it,_ I think, unreasonably annoyed. _I know it's Ginny's house, but did she have to come home just now?_

My irritation changes to concern when I notice she's limping. "Ginny, what happened?" I ask, sitting up straight. "Here, you'd better sit down."

"I'm all right," Ginny protests, dropping into a chair. "Just got caught on the knee by a Bludger - it'll wear off."

"You'd better quit the team, hadn't you?" Ron says, before I can stop him. "I wouldn't like to see Hermione playing professional Quidditch if she was expecting."

"I wouldn't like to see Hermione playing professional Quidditch at any time - unless she was on the opposing team," Ginny answers.

"Come on," I protest. "I'm not _that_ bad." Although I suppose I am, really.

"You know what I mean," Ron's saying hotly. "It's not safe. It might not be just your knee next time."

Ginny glares at him. "You have no business - " she starts furiously.

"My nephew, isn't it?" Ron says at the same time.

"It might be a girl," I say mildly, but neither of them is listening to me.

Ginny starts to retort, but suddenly her anger dissolves. "I know," she says quietly. "I just feel awful, walking out on Gwenog in the middle of the season. And supposing I couldn't get my job back, afterwards?"

"You're probably not playing your best if you're worried about taking a hit, anyway," Ron says shrewdly. "And why wouldn't she let you come back? Aren't you the best Chaser they've ever had on the Harpies?"

"Hardly," Ginny says, looking gratified. "Although I must say, I'm not bad." She looks at me. "What do you think, Hermione?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," I say. "Or Ron, either. What matters is what you and Harry think."

"Harry wants me to give it up till the baby's born," Ginny admits. "He won't say so, but I can tell."

"Anyway, it's not like you need the money," Ron says, rather unwisely. "You haven't got to work another day in your life, if you don't want to."

"Of course I do!" Ginny snaps. "I need to do _something_!"

I elbow Ron before he can open his mouth again. "Yes, but it doesn't need to be Quidditch," I say quickly. "Unless that's what you want, of course."

Ginny stares into the fire for a minute. "I'm not sure what I want," she says slowly. "It's not as much fun as it used to be - and I don't recover from injuries as fast as I used to. But all I know is Quidditch. I wouldn't want to take some boring Ministry job or something."

"It doesn't have to be the Ministry," I say, swallowing the insult. "There are plenty of other things you can do."

"Maybe," Ginny says. "I'll talk it over with Harry tonight."

"There you are," I say, giving Ron a "don't say _one_ word" look. "Why don't you go up and soak your knee in a hot bath?"

"It feels a bit better," Ginny says, swinging her leg experimentally, but she starts out of the room. "Maybe I will have a bath."

"She ought to quit," Ron says, the second she's out of the room.

"Of course she should, but you're only making things worse," I tell him. "Let Harry handle it." I settle down against him again. "What were you about to tell me before?"

Ron pulls me closer. "We've got at least an hour before Harry gets home," he says. "You don't want to waste it talking, do you?"

**Ron**

I know I have to tell her. I just don't want to. It's not that I'm afraid - well, I am a little. Anyway, I reckon it can wait one more day.

I'm not sure how long I could have distracted her with snogging, so it's actually sort of a relief when Harry gets home early.

"Basil Sedgewick's been asking me about you," he says to Hermione.

Basil Sedgewick's a prat. He probably misses having someone to do all his work for him.

Hermione looks worried. "He's supposed to think I went to New York with Mum & Dad," she says.

That was weeks ago. Even Basil isn't that stupid. Or maybe he is.

Harry shrugs. "I told him I hadn't heard from you," he says. "I don't think he believed me though."

Well, who cares what old Basil thinks? But apparently Harry does. "Hermione, how much do you know about him?" he asks.

"Who, Basil?" Hermione says. "Well, he's very intelligent - he's the youngest person ever to be asked to join the Wizengamut. And he's very ambitious. I'm not sure he has much of a personal life. He never talks about it."

"Ambitious," Harry repeats slowly.

I sit up straight. "Go on, you don't think he's on the take from the Brotherhood, do you?" I ask. I find that I sort of like the idea. This day is definitely looking up.

"Of course he isn't," Hermione says at once, but I can tell she's not positive.

"Why isn't he?" I say.

"Well, because - because he asked me to research all those ancient pureblood laws!" Hermione says triumphantly.

"Course he did," I tell her. "And why? Because he wants to reinstate them!" I knew he was a prat. Now I know he's an _evil_ prat.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione says. "He helped me with the Wolfsbane, too."

"And then he tried to take all the credit for it," I say.

Hermione eyes me sternly. "Just because you don't like him, it doesn't mean he's accepting bribes from Dark Wizards," she says.

"It was instinctive, me not liking him," I say. "I reckon I've developed a sort of Auror sense about wizards who've gone bad."

"Oh, is that it?" Harry says, grinning. "I thought you didn't like him because he's always trying to flirt with Hermione."

I glare at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"I'm not on any side," Harry says. "I'm just wondering if we ought to take a closer look at Basil Sedgewick, that's all."

"Yes," I say promptly.

Hermione hesitates. "Maybe," she says after a minute. "I don't think he believes in the things the Brotherhood stands for, but - well, if they promised him something, he just might be willing to look the other way."

I've been married to Hermione for long enough to know that I'd better shut it now. "Better look into it," I say to Harry. "Er, heard anything more about Perdita?"

Harry shakes his head. "I meant to go by Andromeda's today, but I didn't get a chance," he says. "Ginny's got to go and see the Healer again tomorrow. I'll have a quick word with Marvin while we're at St. Mungo's."

I'm worried about Perdita - another person to worry about - but I can't exactly go and see her myself. She probably wouldn't let me in, anyway.

"Goodness, her baby must be due any day," Hermione says. "I don't suppose I could - "

"No," Harry says immediately. "It isn't safe for either of you, and I don't care how well you think you're disguised."

There's always the Invisibility Cloak, but I don't push it. I'll bring it up some time when Harry and I are alone. "We've just time for a glass of wine before dinner," I say instead. "Fancy one, Harry?"

Harry shakes his head. "Thanks, but I think I'll go up and check on Ginny," he says. "Kreacher said she was limping when she came home."

Oh yeah. I feel slightly guilty that I forgot about that.

"She's all right," Hermione assures him. "But, Harry, I really do think - "

Now it's my turn to nudge her. Hermione breaks off in mid-sentence. "Well, what about that glass of wine?" she says brightly.

Harry heads up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and Hermione and I go into the dining room. Everyone in the portrait's awake. Sirius watches as I open a bottle of wine and pour out two glasses.

"Nice vintage, that," he says, a little longingly.

"We might have Dean come in and paint you a glass," I say.

"Ron, really," Hermione says, but Sirius is laughing.

"Why stop at _one_ glass when I've got two hands?" he asks.

Hermione takes her glass from me and sits down at the table. "Right," she says to me. "You're not getting out of it this time. What were you going to tell me earlier?"

There's no help for it. I take a big slug of wine to fortify myself and sit down across from her. "Okay," I say, taking her hands in mine so she can't pull her wand on me. "I have to go back to Durmstrang."

As I'd expected, she doesn't take it well at all.

**Harry**

Ginny, wrapped in a dressing gown with her long hair piled on top of her head, is just emerging from the bathroom as I come up the stairs.

"How's the knee?" I ask, leaning over to kiss her. She smells of some sort of flowery bubble bath. I hold her close for a minute, breathing it in.

"Much better," Ginny says. "I hardly notice it at all."

She's still favoring it a bit, but I don't say anything. I follow her into the bedroom. "What about having dinner up here tonight?" I ask. "Kreacher could bring up a tray."

"I'm not an invalid," Ginny protests. "I've been hit by hundreds of Bludgers before. So have you, as I recall."

"I wasn't pregnant," I point out.

Ginny laughs. "That _would_ have been a problem," she says, sitting down in front of her dressing table. She reaches up and starts unpinning her hair.

"Let me do that," I say, moving in behind her.

Ginny shuts her eyes as I take down the long, red strands and smooth them with the brush. "That feels lovely," she says.

"Maybe you need to get a bit more rest," I say carefully.

"Ron and Hermione think I ought to quit the Harpies," Ginny says. Her eyes open, meeting mine in the mirror. "What do you think?"

"I think so, too," I admit. "It could just be a leave of absence, couldn't it? You don't have to say you're quitting."

"But I would be," Ginny says. "I got my spot on the team because I replaced a girl who was pregnant, remember? She never came back."

"Well, Gwenog's got three kids and she's Captain," I point out. "You could go back if you wanted to." I search her face in the mirror. "Do you want to?"

Ginny shrugs restlessly. "I don't know," she says. "I'm tired of traveling to matches, and being away from you, and getting up early and practicing in the cold till my fingers and toes feel as though they're about to fall off. And it's all I can do to stay awake during the team meetings lately, although I suppose that's being pregnant."

"Maybe not," I say, remembering Oliver Wood. "Look, why not give in your notice till after the baby's born? Then if you find you miss it, you can go back. If you don't, well…"

"Maybe I will," Ginny says, leaning back against me. "I could talk to Gwen tomorrow after practice."

"Talk to her _before_ practice," I say, tightening my arms around her. I drop a kiss on top of her head. "What about that tray, then?"

Ginny hesitates.

"I could tell Kreacher right now," I offer, opening the door. "It - what the hell?"

The sound of high-pitched shrieking carries up the stairs, followed by a rather loud bang. A lower voice attempts to say something, but it's easily overpowered.

Kreacher appears in the doorway. "She won't stand for any nonsense, Miss Hermione," he remarks fondly.

Ginny grins at him. "What's my brother done this time, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher couldn't say, Mistress, not being one to listen at doors," Kreacher says reprovingly. "But he couldn't help overhearing Miss Hermione say that Mr. Ron is out of his mind."

"He usually is," Ginny agrees. She turns to me. "That tray's starting to sound like a good idea."

"Isn't it?" I say. "Kreacher, could you bring up dinner for two, please?"

"I wonder what Ron did now," Ginny remarks, after Kreacher's shuffled away. "I haven't heard them row like that in ages."

"Dunno," I say, shrugging. I'm not about to say so, but I think I have a pretty good idea of what caused this one.

***

Neither Ron nor Hermione makes an appearance at breakfast the next morning, so Ginny and I have a peaceful meal by ourselves.

"There's a write-up of your last match in the paper, but I don't know if you want to bother reading it," I say, offering Ginny the sports section. "They called you _Gillian_ Potter again, and they also said you made several spectacular saves."

"It definitely would have been spectacular, if they'd been made by a Chaser," Ginny says, rolling her eyes. "That idiot at the _Prophet_ never gets anything right." She glances down at the paper. "Not even the score. Honestly, I think I could write better commentary than this."

"You probably could," I say. I set the news section aside and look at her. "In fact, why don't you - "

We're interrupted by a tapping at the window. "That's Andromeda's owl, isn't it?" Ginny says, trying to see through the frost that covers the window.

She's right. I flick my wand in the direction of the window. The owl swoops in and drops a letter next to my plate, helping himself to a piece of toast as he flies off.

"I hope everything's all right," Ginny says anxiously.

I set the letter down and give her a reassuring smile. "I think so," I say. "In fact, I'm pretty sure Perdita may have had her baby. Andromeda says that the 'package' she was expecting arrived last night and that it 'appears to be in good order'."

"I wish she'd said if it was a boy or a girl, but I suppose that would have given it away," Ginny says. "Oh, well done, Perdita! Don't you think I might go round and see her, Harry?"

I consider. There wouldn't be anything unusual in it - Ginny and I often drop in to see Andromeda and Teddy. "I'll write back and tell her we're pleased to accept her kind invitation to dinner tonight," I say, grinning.

"Amber's just come in; Kreacher's feeding her in the kitchen," Ginny answers. "I suppose I can bring the baby something yellow - or white - that way it doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl."

I have no idea what she's talking about. "I'll go send it off now, before I go to work," I say, escaping before I can be drawn into a discussion of white versus yellow.

Ron's just coming down the stairs as I start for the kitchen. "Morning," he says. "I - er - told Hermione last night."

"We heard," I say.

"It was a bit rough, but it's all right now," Ron says, ears turning red. "We made it up."

"Yeah, we heard that bit, too," I tell him. They weren't exactly quiet.

Ron's ears go from red to magenta. "So, er, I'm going to do it tomorrow," he says. "Leave, I mean."

"You're sure about this?" I ask him.

Ron shrugs. "I'm nor sure about any of it, really," he admits. "Hermione had a good idea, though. She wants me to let Winky know where I'm going, so I can call her if I have to get out of there in a hurry."

_Hermione would have made a good Auror,_ I think for about the hundredth time. "Come along with me now and tell Winky," I say, opening the door leading to the kitchen stairs. "I have to send Amber over to Andromeda's. Perdita's had her baby."

"Good for her," Ron says, looking pleased. "Maybe she'll be normal again now."

I glance back over my shoulder at him. "If I were you," I say, "I wouldn't say that in front of your sister."

**Gawain**

There's no point in hesitating - not now that he's come this far. He swallows hard and steps into the darkness, keeping his wand at the ready.

Much to his relief, a dim light flickers on a wall within the cavern. He can just make out the shape of a cloaked man standing in front of him. "We prefer the darkness," his unknown host says. "I'm sure you will understand."

A vampire, then. "It's quite all right," he says, even though it isn't. "Might I see Paienjen?"

"What do you want with him?" the vampire says.

"I'd prefer to discuss it with Paienjen," he says firmly.

The creature laughs, rather unpleasantly. It sends a chill down Gawain's spine. "I'm sure you would," he says. "But I'm being a bad host. You must forgive me - we have so few visitors that one tends to forget the niceties. May I offer you a glass of wine?"

He's not fool enough to accept anything to eat or drink in this place. "No, thank you," he says. "I brought a flask of water with me."

"It isn't _blood_, you know," the vampire says, sounding slightly offended. "We don't expect humans to share our preferences."

"I never thought it was blood," Gawain says, although the thought had crossed his mind. "I merely prefer water."

"You're an Auror," the vampire says. Now it sounds rather pleased with itself. "Gawain Robards… I recognize the name."

There's no point in denying it. "Yes," Gawain admits.

"You're a long way from home, Gawain Robards," the vampire says. "Is the British Ministry of Magic so concerned with our doings here in Romania?"

No one at the Ministry knows he's here, but it would be unwise to say so. "You underestimate your own importance," he answers instead.

"So it appears," the vampire says. "Well, Gawain Robards, if you will not drink, will you play chess?"

Chess again. There is, it seems, no getting away from it. "Very well," he consents. "And if I win, perhaps you will be good enough to take me to Paienjen."

The vampire makes a sweeping motion with its arm. The light on the wall brightens just enough for Gawain to see a chessboard, already laid out on a table between two chairs.

"You will not win, Gawain Robards," it says. "But perhaps you will get your wish." It makes the sweeping motion again, indicating the chairs, and this time Gawain sees the tattoo of an acromantula on the back of its hand. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Ron**

I'd like to go and have a look at Perdita's baby myself (even though they all sort of look alike, don't they?), but I'm still supposed to be in Argentina or something.

"Not Argentina," Harry says. "Brazil. And the Brotherhood may or may not know that you aren't there."

It takes me a minute to work this sentence out. "Why?" I say finally.

Harry starts to answer, but Ginny calls down to him to fetch the little jacket she knitted for the baby.

"Is that it?" I ask, pointing to a white, fluffy thing on the sofa.

"I guess so," Harry says, a little dubiously. "It looks awfully small, doesn't it?"

It looks small to me, too. "Maybe Perdita can do an Engorging Charm on it," I say. I can't even give him a message for Perdita because Harry's not supposed to have talked to me in months. I'll be glad when this thing is finished.

Hermione joins me in the hall to wave Harry and Ginny off. "This'll give us a chance to have a nice dinner by ourselves," she says brightly.

I look at her a little warily. Hermione said she understood why I needed to go back to Durmstrang, but that doesn't mean she's finished trying to talk me out of it. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she's already thought of a least a dozen new arguments against the plan.

An owl flies in when they open the door. "I hope this isn't the Aurors," Ginny says, looking at Harry.

Harry looks up from the note and eyes her apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go out," he says. "It's a bit of an emergency. We can reschedule with Andromeda."

I pull him aside. "What is it?" I ask.

Harry hands me the note. All it says is _"7:30 tonight at the same place as last time. You'll have to do it, because I'm not." _It's not even signed.

"Malfoy," Harry explains in a whisper.

Now I get it. "Same place" is probably the Parkinsons' cellar - and naturally Draco Malfoy wouldn't have the nerve to go there on his own. Just as well, really, because he'd probably give the whole thing away.

"Don't see as you've got a choice," I say, handing the note back to him.

"I hate disappointing Teddy, though," Harry says. "Andromeda said he was really looking forward to this evening."

And suddenly I get an idea. "So don't," I say. "Disappoint him, I mean. You can still be there."

"I can't be in two places at once," Harry says, not getting it. "And by the time I've finished, it'll likely be past his bedtime."

"You _can_ be in two places at once," I tell him. "As long as one of you is me."

Harry's eyes brighten behind his glasses. "Polyjuice," he says.

"Polyjuice," I confirm. "I'll go to Andromeda's with Ginny, and you go deal with the Brotherhood."

Harry looks thoughtful. "It just might work, at that," he says.

"Course it'll work," I tell him. "Anyway, I've been wanting to see Perdita." And I'd just as soon not spend another evening arguing about Durmstrang, but I'm not fool enough to say so with Hermione just a few feet away.

Harry grins at me. "Ginny?" he says, turning to face her. "Looks like we may be able to work things out after all."

Ginny's all for it, once we explain. "Just don't forget and try to kiss me or anything," I warn her.

"Hardly," Ginny says, shuddering. "Don't you forget you're supposed to be Harry. Perdita's awfully bright."

"If I can pull off being a complete stranger for months, I ought to be able to act like Harry for one evening," I say. "Don't you think so, Hermione?"

"I'm sure you can manage," Hermione says. "I just wish I could go, too. It's not going to be much fun, stuck here by myself."

"I know," I say guiltily. "But we won't be late, and now you can read without me bothering you." I'd feel bad if it was going to be my last evening at home, but it isn't - Harry wants me to hold off another day before I go back to Durmstrang.

"You and I can visit them together once all this Brotherhood nonsense is finished," Ginny says to Hermione. "I'll have all sorts of time on my hands now that I'm not playing Quidditch."

Ginny finally gave in her notice to the Harpies. About time, if you ask me.

"You'd better change into some of my things," Harry says. "Yours aren't going to fit me very well."

I follow him up the stairs, pausing in my own room to fetch the Polyjuice. Hermione's waiting on the landing when I come out.

"Sure you're okay with this?" I ask, stopping to kiss her.

"I'd rather have you go to Andromeda's than Durmstrang," Hermione says.

See? I knew I made the right decision, offering to take Harry's place tonight.

**Hermione**

The house is silent when they've all gone. I haven't been on my own since I closed up the flat. Kreacher and Winky are here, of course, but they're busy doing whatever it is they do in the kitchen. (Fighting, probably.)

I go into the sitting room and pick up a book, but I don't feel much like reading. I have to force myself to concentrate.

"Dinner, Miss," Kreacher says from the doorway.

"Oh, Kreacher, you shouldn't have bothered," I protest, following him into the dining room. "I would have been all right with a sandwich or something."

"Sandwiches isn't any sort of meals for Kreacher's ladies," Kreacher says firmly. "Kreacher's ladies eat a proper dinner, so they do, Miss!"

Well, there's no arguing with that, I suppose. I take my seat meekly while he sets an entire roasted chicken in front of me with a flourish.

"Best eat it while it's hot, Miss," he says paternally, and disappears.

"He never waited on me like that," Sirius says from his frame.

_Because you weren't kind to him,_ I think, but I'm not going to argue with a portrait. I look helplessly at the chicken. "I'll never manage even a quarter of it," I say.

"I could have," James says wistfully. "Lily used to cook brilliant chicken."

"Why are you on your own tonight, Hermione?" Remus asks me.

There's no harm in telling them, I suppose. Sirius and James are highly amused by the whole plan.

"We could have done quite a lot with Polyjuice, back in our day," Sirius says thoughtfully to James. "Changing places when we had dates, that sort of thing. Pity we never thought of it."

"It's just as well for you that you didn't," Lily says sternly. "It would have been James's last date with me!"

I think I would have liked Lily Potter. I eat as much as I can, but a good deal of the chicken remains when I've finished.

"Save it for that husband of yours," Lily tells me. "He has quite an appetite, doesn't he?"

I look up at the portrait. The others have all fallen asleep - I suppose it's not very exciting, watching me eat - but Lily's regarding me warmly. "I feel as though I ought to apologize for last night," I tell her. Ron and I had rather a heated argument in the dining room over what Ginny calls "this Brotherhood nonsense".

Lily smiles at me. "Not at all, dear," she says. "All married couples argue occasionally. And I quite saw your point. I used to feel the same way when Sirius and James insisted on doing things that I thought were too risky."

"Did you?" I ask, grateful for the understanding. "I know it has to be done, of course - the Brotherhood of Blood needs to be stopped. I just wish…"

"That your husband could do his part while staying safely at home?" Lily finishes for me. "But they aren't happy that way, are they?"

"No," I admit. "Ron says he doesn't want to go back to Durmstrang, but there's a part of him that really does."

"Yes," Lily says quietly. "There are people who want to be in the thick of it - and then there are those of us who'd rather work behind the scenes. The world needs both kinds." She smiles at me again. "And you've done more than your share, haven't you? Won't you tell me more about the Wolfsbane? Remus was so pleased when Harry told him about it."

"It was really because of Remus that I wanted to do it," I say, settling myself more comfortably in my chair. This evening's not turning out to be as lonely as I'd feared.

**Harry**

Jeremy Gamp's waiting for me outside the cellar entrance. This time he doesn't ask me to wear a blindfold.

"I thought you weren't coming," he says peevishly.

"Sorry," I say briefly.

Simon-in-disguise meets us at the foot of the stairs. Jeremy sweeps past him without a word.

"Don't mind him," Simon whispers to me. "He's had some bad news today. Family troubles."

He knows about Perdita's baby, then. How?

"Come on," Jeremy says sharply. "We need to get started." He's already seated at the table, along with most of the others I saw the first night and a few that I don't recognize.

"This is one of our confederates from the Eastern division," Jeremy says, indicating one of the strangers. "You may address him as Grigor."

Grigor? Wasn't that one of the kids Ron taught at Durmstrang? This boy looks young enough - and stupid enough - to be the one he described.

"Grigor is here to report on the progress that's been made," Jeremy starts, but Grigor interrupts him.

"That is not vhy I am here," he says, sounding puzzled. "I am to find a job in your Ministry, yes?"

"That's your cover," Jeremy says patiently.

Grigor looks even more confused. "Vhat is this cover?" he says suspiciously.

Simon-in-disguise rolls his eyes at me. I give him a Malfoy smirk in return.

"It's what you're going to tell everyone outside of this room," Jeremy says. There's a slight edge to his voice now. "The real reason you're here is to help us."

"Ah," Grigor says, apparently satisfied. "In that case, I prefer not to vork. I vill just help you, yes?"

"One of us will find you a position," Jeremy says firmly. His eyes rove across the table.

_Please don't ask me,_ I think silently, but of course he does.

"Malfoy," he says. "International department and all that; it's perfect. I'm sure they can find a use for a - what nationality are you, Grigor? Bulgarian, isn't it?"

"Yes," Grigor says sulkily. "But I am not understanding how that vill help."

I'm not understanding it, either - and I can't think my brother-in-law is going to be pleased when I attempt to foist another useless employee on him - but there's no getting out of it. "Come to the Ministry tomorrow morning at about ten," I say resignedly to Grigor. "I'll introduce you to a few people. Try and act as though you know something about international politics."

Simon Parkinson turns a laugh into a cough. Grigor merely looks confused. "I am not the only vun," he says to me. "Others vill follow soon."

"We'll discuss that later," Jeremy says quickly. "Now, Grigor, what news have you for us from Kiri - er, our friends in Bulgaria?"

"Is not Bulgaria, vhere they are," Grigor corrects him.

"I know where they are," Jeremy says. "Is our plan still on track?"

"The plan, yes," Grigor concedes. "But they are thinking that perhaps the first of March is not -"

"Excellent," Jeremy says, suddenly turning brisk. "That concludes things for this evening, then. Malfoy, if you wouldn't mind waiting a moment?"

He can't be serious. We've only been here about ten minutes. _I could have gone to Andromeda's after all,_ I think, feeling rather annoyed.

The others appear to be startled as well, and there's a fair amount of grumbling about evenings being spoilt for nothing, all of which Jeremy ignores. At last the room clears out, and there's no one left except for me, Jeremy, Grigor, and Simon-in-disguise.

"I live here," Simon says, when Jeremy raises an eyebrow at him.

Jeremy shrugs. "Stay if you like," he says coolly. "It really doesn't matter. Now, Grigor, you're quite sure you know how to get to the Ministry of Magic?"

Grigor frowns. "Is through dress shop vindow," he says after a moment.

"No, it isn't," Jeremy says impatiently. "That's St. Mungo's." He gives me an exasperated look. "Someone was supposed to have been teaching him all this, but he hasn't done a very good job," he says in a low voice.

"It's not like he had much to work with," I point out. I can't help wondering if Ron gave him the wrong directions on purpose or if Grigor was too dim to remember them properly.

Jeremy rolls his eyes. "If you'll believe me, this one was the brightest of the lot," he says. "His three friends were deemed too stupid to bother with."

"So they aren't joining him?" I ask quickly.

Jeremy eyes me. "You sound pleased."

"I am," I say. "It's going to be hard enough finding a job for this one. If his friends are even stupider, I doubt even Magical Maintenance would take them on."

"You needn't bother about finding jobs for his friends," Jeremy says. "However, they will be joining us with the rest of the Eastern contingent."

"On the first of March," I say, testing him.

Jeremy doesn't bother answering. He turns back to Grigor. "Now, when you get to the Ministry, you must ask at the reception desk for Draco Malfoy. Have you got that?"

"Draco Malfoy," Grigor repeats obediently. "I am remembering now that the Ministry is found at the bottom of a well. Is correct, yes?"

Simon has a sudden attack of coughing.

"Damn it," Jeremy says, annoyed. "I'll show you to the Ministry myself, immediately. You'd better wait in the Atrium for the rest of the night so you don't get lost. Can you do a Disillusionment Charm?"

He doesn't wait for the baffled look to fade from Grigor's face before applying one on him himself - rather violently.

"You two can go," he says sharply to me and Simon. "Grigor will see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

"He keeps forgetting I live here," Simon says mildly as the door bangs behind them. He's apparently forgotten that I'm not supposed to know who he is. Or maybe he just doesn't care.

Simon's rummaging in a cupboard. "Drink, Malfoy?" he says over his shoulder. "I've got a rather good bottle of firewhisky tucked away."

I start to say no, and then reconsider. There's information to be got out of Simon, and the alcohol might loosen his tongue.

"I don't envy you that little task," Simon says, pouring us each a glass. "If I were you, I'd have the boy pretend he doesn't speak English. His colossal stupidity might go undetected that way."

I hate to admit it, but that's not a bad idea. "What was up with Gamp tonight?" I ask casually. "In a mood, wasn't he?"

"I told you, family troubles," Simon answers, knocking back half his glass. "His sister's had a baby."

I pretend confusion. "I didn't know he'd got a sister," I say. "I thought he said something about being an only child."

"Disowned," Simon explains. "Blood traitor. She married a Mudblood, and as if that wasn't bad enough, she went to work for the Aurors. Of course this kid of hers is only a half-blood, but Jeremy's still taking it hard. Wants the brat to grow up with proper influences and all that."

Obviously the only chance of that is if the baby never meets Uncle Jeremy, but I can't say so. "Understandable," I say instead. "Er, how'd he know about the baby? I mean, if his sister's been disowned?"

"I thought you worked in the Ministry," Simon says, finishing his drink and immediately reaching for the bottle. "Ever heard of Magical Records?"

"Of course I've heard of it," I say. "But it's not as though I'd got time to go in and peruse the damned things every day. And I don't see how Jeremy has, either."

"He hasn't," Simon answers, offering the bottle to me. "Let's just say he's got a friend who takes care of that sort of thing for him."

So one of them works in Magical Records. Thanks very much, Simon - I knew you'd have something interesting to offer if I waited long enough. I'll see what I can find out from Ernie MacMillan.

"Better not," I say, shaking my head at the bottle. "I think I'll drop in and see if Astoria's home. She hates it when I smell of firewhisky."

I'll have to track down Malfoy, in any case. He's not going to be pleased when I tell him about the little treat I have in store for him tomorrow, but if Grigor's going to be asking for him at the front desk I don't see how we can get out of it.

"I'd heard you were dating the other Greengrass girl," Simon says lazily. "Turned out to be rather pretty, hasn't she?"

Malfoy would scowl at him for that, so I do.

**Ron**

I was right - all babies definitely do look alike. Perdita's is a boy, but it looks pretty much like my two nieces did at that age - red and sort of wrinkled.

"Oh, Perdita, he's beautiful," Ginny says, holding out her arms.

_If you say so,_ I think. At least he's not crying, but I'll bet he does when I take him.

Teddy tugs at my sleeve, and I lift him up next to me the way Harry always does. "What do you think of the baby?" I whisper to him.

"He isn't much fun," Teddy whispers back. "Perdita says he doesn't want to play with me yet."

"He will when he gets older," I say. _In a couple of years or so, but there's no reason to point that out, is there?_

Teddy looks unconvinced. "He cries a lot," he says.

"So did you, when you were a baby," Andromeda says briskly.

"Let Harry hold him," Marvin suggests. "Never hurts to get in a bit of practice!"

I can't for the life of me remember if Marvin knows about Ginny being pregnant or not. I suppose he might have figured it out, being a Healer and all.

"Harry's had plenty of practice," Andromeda says. "He helped me with Teddy quite a bit, didn't you, Harry?"

_Thanks a lot, Harry,_ I think, nodding miserably at Andromeda. _He_ might have had lots of practice with babies, but _I_ haven't. I hope I don't give the whole thing away.

Ginny shoots me a wicked grin as she passes the baby over.

I'm a bit nervous, but at least I don't drop him. The baby opens slate-blue eyes and blinks at me. Oh Merlin - please don't let him start crying.

"What do you think?" Ginny prompts.

"He's nice," I say. He is, actually. He smells good (for the moment, anyway), and he isn't crying. Maybe I'll be all right with this baby thing when Hermione and I get round to having one. I look up and meet Perdita's eyes. It's nice to finally see her smiling, even if she's smiling at Harry and not me. "What are you going to call him?" I ask her.

Perdita and Marvin exchange glances. "I'm glad you're here, so we can ask you," Perdita says. "Do you think Ron and Hermione would mind terribly if we called the baby after Ron?"

I'm so startled I nearly drop the baby. "Why would they mind?" I manage after a second.

Marvin shrugs. "Sometimes people want to call their own children after themselves," he explains.

"Oh," I say. "Well, I can tell you for a fact that Ron and Hermione aren't planning on doing that. They both think it would be too confusing." Actually, Hermione was the one who said it'd be too confusing. I just think it wouldn't be fair to ask a little kid to learn to spell "Hermione". I mean, what if she inherited my brains instead of her mum's?

"Well, in that case…" Marvin says, smiling.

"You're sure, though?" I say directly to Perdita. "I mean, I sort of thought - " I manage to stop myself before it slips out. _I thought you didn't like me anymore._

"You know I don't get on with my family," Perdita says. "Ron's been like my younger brother - and no matter what anyone else says, I'm sticking by him."

My throat feels tight all of a sudden. I know I have to answer her, but I don't seem able to talk.

Ginny comes to my rescue. "I think that's lovely," she says warmly. "So will Hermione - and Ron."

"I don't suppose - " Marvin starts, but Perdita gives him a warning look and he breaks off. I'll bet he was going to ask if Harry knew where I was.

"We'd better think about getting home," Ginny says, into an awkward silence. "I'm sure it's past Teddy's bedtime."

I've hardly been anywhere in months. "It's not that late," I say.

Ginny catches my eye and tugs at her own hair. Oh. I'll bet my Polyjuice is starting to wear off. "Maybe it is, at that," I say hastily.

Teddy doesn't follow me to the door like he usually does with Harry, but Andromeda comes with us to show us out. "Harry, you're quite sure it's safe for Perdita and the baby to stay here, aren't you?" she whispers, glancing back over her shoulder. "The birth would have registered itself in Magical Records, but the house is unplottable so it wouldn't have given a location."

Oh, bloody hell - I forgot about Magical Records. Still, it's not as though anyone actually reads them. Except for Ernie. "I'm sure it's fine," I say. "Although I can look into moving them if you - "

"Oh, no, I love having them here!" Andromeda interrupts. "Come again soon, won't you?"

"Definitely," I promise. _Only next time you'll get the real Harry._

Hermione's already gone to bed, but she's sitting up reading when I come in. "Boy or girl?" she asks, setting her book aside.

"Boy," I say. She looks really fuzzy until I realize I'm still wearing Harry's spare glasses. I pull them off and toss them on top of the wardrobe. "And you'll never believe this, but Perdita wants to call him after me."

"Of course I believe it," Hermione says. "I think it's lovely."

That's exactly what Ginny said. Harry's jeans are much too tight - and so are his damned shoes. I start stripping off in a hurry. "He was all right, that baby," I say. "He's the first one that didn't cry when I held him."

"You must be getting better at it," Hermione says. "Good thing, under the circumstances."

"I - _what_?" I say, turning around to stare at her.

"Because of Ginny's baby," Hermione says, looking amused. "Did you think I was trying to tell you something?"

I did, sort of, but I'm not about to admit it. "Course not," I say, stepping out of Harry's jeans with relief and chucking them across the room. "We've been careful, haven't we?" I find my pajamas and pull them on.

Hermione's quiet for a minute. "Ron?" she says finally. "Do you ever think about _not_ being careful?"

I sit down next to her. "Sometimes," I admit. "Only we wanted to wait till we had a proper house, didn't we?"

"We will have a house," Hermione points out. "As soon as you finish up with Durmstrang and come out of hiding, we can start looking for one, can't we?"

"Reckon we can at that," I say, putting my arm around her. "What do you say, then - will we have a baby?"

"I didn't mean right this second," Hermione says, but she kisses me back anyway.

"Just practicing," I whisper.

"All right, then," Hermione whispers back.

Harry really couldn't have picked a worse time to knock on the door.

**Hermione**

Ron calls Harry something very uncomplimentary under his breath.

"Stop it," I whisper. I sit up. "Come in, Harry."

Harry pokes his head in. "Good, you're both awake," he says. "I hate to do this to you, but there's no other way to say it. Ron, you're going to have to leave for Durmstrang tonight."

Ron and I look at each other in dismay. "Why?" Ron asks, turning back toward Harry. "What's happened?"

"One of your former students is here," Harry says. He grins at Ron, but somehow he doesn't look amused. "A boy called Grigor."

"Already?" Ron says, startled. "He was supposed to wait and come with the others in March. Mind, I'm not surprised Grigor got the date wrong - he would've made Crabbe and Goyle look like good students - but - "

"He didn't get it wrong," Harry interrupts. "He was sent on his own. Early."

"Why?" Ron says again, and Harry shrugs.

"Jeremy Gamp tried very hard to make all of us think that the plan still holds for the first of March," he says. "I'm pretty sure things have been moved up. Malfoy's going to try and get it out of Grigor tomorrow, but - "

"_Malfoy_ is?" Ron says. "Sure you can trust him?"

"No," Harry says honestly. "But he's all we've got. He's supposed to try and find Grigor a job at the Ministry tomorrow."

Ron starts to laugh. "Wish I could be there to see Percy's face," he says.

"Yeah, he's not going to be pleased," Harry admits.

I have a sudden idea. "Has it got to be a proper job?" I ask, leaning forward. "Why couldn't Malfoy pretend Grigor was just a - a cousin visiting from Bulgaria who was interested in learning about our Ministry?"

"The Malfoys don't have cousins in Bulgaria," Harry says. "But that's not a bad idea. Grigor could be a friend of the family or something. I'll try to catch Malfoy tomorrow and suggest it. He wasn't overly thrilled at the idea of trying to get Percy to take him on."

"What happened to the others?" Ron asks, frowning. "There were supposed to be four of them."

"Too stupid," Harry explains. "Unless Gamp's lying about that, too. But I really think - "

"That someone needs to go to Durmstrang straight away and find out what's going on," Ron finishes for him. He squeezes me against him for a second. "Sorry, love. I wouldn't have gone out tonight if I'd known."

"Don't be silly," I say. "It did you a lot of good, I think."

Harry gives me an apologetic look. "Sorry for the short notice, Hermione," he says awkwardly.

"It's all right," I tell him. It isn't, but it's not as though I would have liked it any better tomorrow night. But I'm not going to say so. Lily's right - sometimes you have to let them go.

Harry turns to Ron. "How soon can you be ready?" he asks. "There are a few things we ought to go over first."

Ron's arm tightens around me again. "Give us a few minutes, yeah?" he says.

"Right," Harry says, sounding awkward again. "I'll - er - see you in the dining room in a bit, then."

Ron flicks his wand at the door to lock it as soon as it's closed behind Harry.

"We haven't time - " I start.

"Why not?" Ron asks. "It's not as though I've got to pack. All I need to do is change into my Harris robes and drink some Polyjuice." He stretches out, reaching for me. "Let's pretend Harry never knocked on the door. Now, where were we?"

"I think," I say, "that you were just about to kiss me."

**Harry**

"Haven't seen you for a while," Ernie says, looking up from the Records with a smile. "Been busy, I suppose?"

"Isn't everyone?" I say, looking around. There's a wizard in Magical Transportation robes frowning over an atlas, and two other people I don't recognize organizing records. One of them is likely the informer, but which? I turn back to Ernie. "Had lunch yet?" I ask. "Want to join me at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Ernie looks surprised but pleased. "I suppose it'd be all right, as long as I'm not gone for too long," he says cautiously. He lowers his voice and adds, "New staff, you know."

_What a coincidence - I was hoping you'd bring up that very topic,_ I think. "Hannah's good about getting the meals out fast," I say. I don't want to eat at the Ministry Café - not when I don't know who's on the Brotherhood's payroll.

"Are both of those people new?" I ask, once we're seated at a corner table in the Cauldron. "Magical Records doesn't usually have that sort of turnover, do you?"

"Certainly not," Ernie says. "Our employees are generally known for their longevity. It was most peculiar that Barnabus decided to retire early - I'd have bet on him staying for at least another ten years. And then Margery's husband got that surprise job offer from Paris, and off they went."

Margery's husband may have been surprised by the offer, but I'll bet the Brotherhood wasn't. Maybe this is the angle we ought to be investigating. I'll put Persimmon on checking recent staff departures as soon as I get back to the office. "And so you've got two new people," I prompt, as Ernie trails off to concentrate on the menu.

"I don't know what would have become of the Department if I hadn't been there," Ernie says, shaking his head. "Fortunately I'm well-versed enough to thoroughly train staff - although I must say that neither of them seems to show any particular aptitude for the work. Alicia clearly took the job because she thought it would be a good way to meet men, and as for Axel…" He gives me a despairing look.

"Bit slow, is he?" I ask.

"Not slow, exactly," Ernie says thoughtfully. "It's more that he's interested in all the wrong sorts of things. I'm always finding him poring over recent events when he's supposed to be cataloguing the archives. Of course, being a foreigner, I suppose it's a bit confusing for him."

Sounds like Axel's our man, doesn't it? "Foreign?" I say, deliberately casual. "Where's he from, then?"

"Germany or someplace like that, I think," Ernie says vaguely. "Ah, here's Hannah! What's good today?"

"Everything, of course," Hannah says, smiling at us. "Hello, Harry - it's been ages."

"Everyone's saying that to me lately," I say ruefully. Maybe Ginny and I ought to have a dinner party or something when all this is over with.

"But you don't want to hear about Magical Records," Ernie says, once Hannah's left with our lunch orders.

I make a sudden decision to let him in on it. Ernie's one person I know I can trust with my life. "Actually, I do," I say, doing an unobtrusive _Muffliato_ Charm. Ernie's eyes widen as he spots it. They widen even more as I explain exactly why I'm so interested in his staffing problems.

"Axel," he says at once. "Alicia's a twit - she hasn't got the brains."

"Maybe," I say. "Or maybe she's just a very good actress. They could both be in on it, you know."

Ernie nods thoughtfully. "What do you want me to do?" he asks.

"Nothing for the moment," I say. "Just keep your eyes open." I grin at him. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to plant a bit of false information, just to see if someone takes the bait?"

"Of course I couldn't falsify the Records," Ernie says pompously. "That would be wrong. But if it were, say, an article of some sort?"

"I think I know someone who'd be willing to help out," I say. I probably don't even have to ask Xeno Lovegood - I'll bet there's already something perfectly serviceable in this month's _Quibbler_.

Ernie beams at me. "This is rather exciting," he says. "Just like the old D.A days, isn't it? I don't mind telling you, sometimes I miss them."

"Some of us," I say, "haven't had a chance to miss them yet."

**Gawain**

He's not sure how long he's been here. It feels like days, but it can't be.

"Checkmate," Paienjen says softly. "Another game?"

"I'd rather talk," Gawain says.

The vampire shrugs, looking amused. "Again?" it asks. "You are a persistent man, Robards."

Persistence, in this case, hasn't exactly paid off. Paienjen has smoothly deflected every one of Gawain's questions so far. "What will it take for you to tell me what I want to know?" he asks abruptly, tiring of the game.

"Ah," Paienjen says softly. "At last you ask a qvestion that I vill answer." He smiles, exposing his fangs, and Gawain has to repress an involuntary shudder.

"Well?" he asks.

Paienjen looks thoughtful. "My people have been imprisoned here for many years," he says. "Vhat ve vant is our freedom."

"Impossible," Gawain says. "The Romanian Ministry would never allow it." He suspects the vampire knows this already.

Paienjen nods, accepting the answer.

As he'd thought - a test. "If someone else has promised you that, they're lying," Gawain says bluntly.

Paienjen nods again. "I am already knowing this," he answers. "And so knowing, I took the opportunity of asking for something extra, do you see? Something that I know they vill give me, because they are not caring about it."

Something the Brotherhood doesn't care about… "Victims?" Gawain asks.

"Ve prefer not to think of them that vay," Paienjen says reproachfully. "Ve - " Its words are interrupted by a knock at the door.

Gawain glances up, startled. They have been undisturbed during the whole of his time here. Somehow it's easy to forget that there must be many others here.

Paienjen calls out something in its own language, and the door opens. A cloaked figure glides in silently, proffering a scroll of parchment.

"You vill excuse me?" Paienjen says to Gawain. "Sometimes a reply is needed. It vill be a moment, only."

Gawain briefly considers possible means of getting his hands on the parchment, only to discard them. It's not worth the risk - and in any case, the message is likely in Romanian.

Paienjen's face tightens with anger as it reads. It glares at the cloaked figure and barks out a question in Romanian. The other answers in the same language.

Paienjen tosses the parchment aside furiously. It jerks its head imperiously at the door, and the other glides out as silently as he'd entered.

Gawain can't resist. "Bad news?" he asks politely.

"I have been betrayed!" Paienjen says dramatically. "Just now I am learning this, and not even from the vuns who gave me their false promises. Vere it not for my spies, I vould not now be knowing that - "

"That what?" Gawain prompts, when the vampire pauses.

Paienjen sighs. "It is not now mattering," it says gloomily. "I vas promised children - delicious children - and a never-ending supply of them, do you see? And now I am learning that these children have been spirited away, and Kir - the liar is not telling me."

Children? Gawain fights to control his instinctive horror. After all, he knows what vampires are. "Which children?" he asks, even though he thinks he may already know. The name Paienjen didn't speak was undoubtedly Kirilov. "It was to be the Durmstrang students, wasn't it?" he says. "The half-bloods."

"Blood is blood," Paienjen says philosophically. "Ve are not so fussy here, perhaps."

"But where have they gone?" Gawain asks. And more importantly, what the hell has Weasley done? He's always been a bit of a rebel, but this deliberate flouting of orders is unacceptable.

Paienjen shrugs. "Vhat does it matter?" it says. "They are gone. And somevun vill pay for this." It shows its teeth again, but Gawain's too preoccupied to shudder this time.

"The best way to get your revenge," he says carefully, "would be to betray them in turn."

Paienjen eyes him thoughtfully. "Betray them," it echoes. "To you?"

"Yes," Gawain says softly. "To me."

Paienjen considers. "I vill make a vager vith you, Robards," it says after a moment. "If you can beat me in a game of chess, I vill tell you vhat you vant to know. If not…" Its voice trails off.

"If not, what?" Gawain asks, not liking the look on Paienjen's face.

"If not, you vill remain here vith us, I think," Paienjen answers softly. "It has been long since I have fed." Its flat, cold eyes meet Gawain's. "Vell, Robards? Vhat is it to be?"

**Ron**

I find the tent with no trouble. Luna gives pretty good directions, considering she's insane and all. It's nicer inside than the one Harry and Hermione and I had, but it's not much warmer. I'll be glad to get inside somewhere, even if it's Durmstrang.

I sit down on one of the bunks and look at my watch. I want to wait till morning before I approach the castle - they're likely to Stun anyone who approaches at night after what happened the last time. I don't dare think about Hermione, so instead I think about the conversation I had with Harry just before I left.

_"You've got your mirror?" Harry said, and I pulled it halfway out of my pocket to show him._

_"Is it still only for emergencies, or do you want a regular report?" I asked him._

_"A regular report, I think," Harry said. "Let's say every evening at ten o'clock your time, which will make it…" He frowned in concentration. "I'm not sure what time here," he admitted. "But I'll look it up."_

_"Hermione'll know," I told him. "I haven't had to look anything up since I got married."_

_"Just be careful," Harry said abruptly. "Send for Winky right away if you get nervous about your safety - it doesn't matter if your cover's blown. Just get out."_

_"I'll be okay," I said. "Just look after Hermione for me. Don't let her worry too much."_

_"She needs something to do," Remus said from the portrait. "Hermione's always better off if she has something to occupy her mind."_

_"Good idea," I told him. "Can't she research something for you, Harry?"_

_"You might put her on those mirrors," James suggested._

_"Of course, the mirrors!" Harry said. "Why didn't I think of that?"_

_"Because you're not as clever as we are," Sirius told him._

_"I'll admit that much," Harry said. "It took me and Ginny ages to figure out how to enchant a pair, but I'll bet Hermione manages a dozen on her first try."_

I'll bet she does, too. And now I'm right back to thinking about her again, and I wasn't going to because it just makes me wish I was home with her…

I get up and wander restlessly over to the tent entrance. It's starting to get light out. I take a final swig of Polyjuice and step outside, catching my breath as the cold bites into me.

I shut my eyes and picture Durmstrang, turning on the spot. 

**Ron**

"I am not understanding," Baranov says for the third time. "Who vere these people?"

"I've no idea," I say, also for the third time. "The man said he was called Scamander - surely you've heard of Newt Scamander? - so I was certain he was a legitimate naturalist. I don't remember the girl's name."

"They vere in any case false names," Kirilov says. "Ve are not certain of their true identities, but ve can be sure they vere not who they claimed to be."

Excellent - Baranov must have shared McGonagall's letter with the others. "Then it doesn't matter," I say to Baranov. "Does it?"

"Vhat Sergei does not understand, perhaps, is vhy they would vant _you_," Etilka cuts in. "I, also am vondering."

_Oh, shut it, Etilka,_ I think irritably. "It's all still a bit foggy," I say, passing my hand over my eyes. "The last thing I remember is the girl handing me a cup of tea. Then everything went dark. When I came round, I was in a tent somewhere. I couldn't recall anything, not even my own name. Then I suddenly woke up yesterday and it had all come back to me. Naturally I returned to Durmstrang as quickly as I could."

"A Memory Charm, no doubt," Baranov says, nodding. "Not, I am thinking, a very good one."

"Lucky for me that it wasn't," I say.

Baranov nods again, but Kirilov and Etilka don't look as though they agree. "Vhere vas this tent?" Kirilov asks.

I pretend confusion. "Well, outdoors, naturally," I say.

"Ve are knowing that much!" Etilka snaps. "Vhere, outdoors?"

I glare back at her. "How the hell should I know?" I demand. "All these bloody mountains look the same, covered with snow. When I remembered who I was, I stepped outside the tent and Apparated straight here. That's all I can tell you."

The other three exchange glances. "You must be very tired, Professor," Baranov says, his voice suddenly gentle. "Vould you perhaps vish to return to your qvarters and rest?"

"My classes…" I say.

"Tomorrow vill be soon enough, I am thinking," Baranov assures me. "I vill see that your meals are brought to you. There vill be no need for you to disturb yourself."

_Great, because I've really missed the food here._ "Thank you," I say to Baranov and make my escape before the other two can think of anything else to ask me.

My rooms have very obviously been searched - they didn't even bother trying to hide it. My clothes are all halfway out of the wardrobe, and my books and papers are scattered all over the place. Of course, the only things I brought to Durmstrang that would have interested them are the Polyjuice ingredients, and I had those with me.

Grimly I set about straightening things up. It might be less suspicious to pretend outrage and demand that Baranov do something about the intruders in my private rooms, but I can't deal with those three anymore just now. I'll mention it to him the next time I see him. And I'll have to find a way of mentioning a few other things, too. Why didn't they immediately tell me that I'd been kidnapped as part of a plot to get the halfblood kids out of Durmstrang? And why didn't any of them mention Delphine Dumont?

And why was Baranov so damned determined that I shouldn't leave my rooms today? Does anyone besides the three of them even know I've returned? The thought makes me more nervous than anything else. _People are bloody well going to know I'm back,_ I decide. As soon as that house-elf's been and gone with my tray, I'm going straight to Dorika's office. Then I'll drop round the greenhouses to see Cesar… and I might just as well pop in on Ivan while I'm out and about. Let's see what Etilka and Kirilov think about that!

**Harry**

"Ten o'clock there is eight o'clock here," Hermione says. "Durmstrang's two hours ahead of us."

I groan. "I thought it was the other way around," I admit. "Eight o'clock's no good - Jeremy Gamp wants Malfoy to come round to the Black Pearl at half-past seven."

"You might leave the mirror with me," Hermione says eagerly. "I could talk to him for you."

There's no other choice, is there? "Just this once," I tell her, handing it over. "Tell Ron to make it midnight his time tomorrow."

Hermione smiles at me, hugging the mirror to herself. "You would have had to give me this one anyway, if you want me to make others," she says practically. "Where are the mirrors you want me to enchant for you? I might just as well get started."

"Dining room sideboard," I say. "Sirius and my dad can tell you how to do it." _And may you have better luck than Ginny and I did._

Hermione starts to say something and then hesitates.

"What is it?" I ask.

Hermione looks at me intently for a moment, then shakes her head. "No," she says decisively. "I may have an idea, but I want to think on it a bit longer. I'll tell you when you get home tonight - I should have those mirrors finished by then.

"It's not as easy as you think," I call after her, watching as she heads purposefully into the dining room. Only it probably will be for her.

I deliberately stayed away from the Department of International Magical Cooperation yesterday, but I can't resist dropping by this morning.

I don't have to look far to find Grigor. Percy's busy showing him the plaque listing every former Head of the Department going back to the very first, complete with a biographical sketch of each one. Grigor's nodding in a rather dazed manner every time Percy stops for breath. Malfoy, looking intensely irritated, is standing behind them.

"…who took over as Department Head in 1507," Percy's saying as I approach them. "Now, a little-known fact about him is - " He breaks off at the sight of me. "Ah, Harry!" he says. "You're just in time to meet our visitor. This is Grigor - he's visiting the Malfoys from Bulgaria." He turns to Grigor. "Grigor, this is Harry Potter," he says, speaking very loudly and slowly. "You know who he is, don't you?"

Grigor's eyes widen as he looks at me. "This?" he says, evidently surprised. "But alvays I am imagining Harry Potter to be…" His voice trails off uncertainly.

I often get this reaction. People seem to expect me to be taller or something. "Welcome to England, Grigor," I say politely. "I hope you enjoy your visit."

"What can I do for you, Harry?" Percy asks, rubbing his hands together.

For once, I have a story prepared ahead of time. "I was wondering if you'd got the minutes from our last inter-departmental staff meeting," I say, knowing that he not only has them, he's probably memorized them.

"Certainly," Percy says promptly. "I'll fetch them for you straight away." He bustles off.

Grigor watches him go. "Ve are finished here, yes?" he asks Malfoy, clearly eager to make his escape.

"No," Malfoy says curtly. "Go and sit down at the desk I showed you earlier. I'll let you know when it's time to go home." Grigor's barely out of earshot before he turns to me and hisses, "Thanks a lot, Potter! How long have I got to put up with this moron?"

"Not much longer," I lie. "What does Gamp want with you tonight; did he say?"

"Does he ever say?" Malfoy answers bitterly. "And that's another thing I'm getting sick of. Astoria wanted me to come over tonight, and I had to tell her I was having drinks with bloody Jeremy. She wasn't pleased, I can tell you. She doesn't like him."

Smart girl, Astoria. Or not - she's dating Malfoy, isn't she? "I'll try to make it fast," I promise him. "Then you can tell Astoria that it wasn't any fun being out with Gamp because you were thinking of her the whole time."

"That could work," Malfoy says thoughtfully.

Percy's coming back. "Here are the minutes from our last six meetings," he says, handing me an armful of parchment. "I often find that it helps me to go back and look over what we discussed over the previous months."

"Thanks, Percy," I say. "I'm sure these will be very useful." _The next time I have insomnia._

I'm just rounding the corner past the Department of Magical Law when someone nearly bumps into me.

"Terribly sorry," a wizard says, backing up a few paces. "Here, are all these yours?" He flicks his wand at the now-scattered meeting minutes.

"Thanks, " I say, catching the scrolls as they come flying into my hands. I take a closer look. Well, if it isn't Hermione's admirer. "You work in Magical Law, don't you?" I say, carefully casual.

"Basil Sedgewick," the wizard says, sticking out an eager hand. "And you're Harry Potter, of course!"

I shuffle the parchments around and manage to shake his hand. "We've met before, haven't we?" I ask. "You look familiar."

Basil Sedgewick shakes his head. "We haven't been formally introduced," he says. "Although you may have seen me when you've testified during courtroom hearings - I'm on the Wizengamut, you know."

"No, I hadn't known," I lie. "Congratulations. They don't usually accept anyone - er - "

"Young?" Sedgewick says, grinning. "No, I'm rather an anomaly. If you don't recognize me from court, perhaps you've seen me with Hermione Weasley. We've worked on several projects together."

"Oh, right," I say. "I think Hermione's mentioned you." Usually with several uncomplimentary additions from Ron, but never mind that.

Sedgewick looks around, then leans in closer. "I couldn't help wondering if you'd heard from her lately," he says, lowering his voice.

I look him straight in the eye. "Why do you ask?" I demand.

Sedgewick looks uncomfortable. "No particular reason," he says hastily, backing up a few steps. "Just - er - you know - quite fond of her - as a colleague, I mean! No offense meant!"

"None taken," I assure him. "If I speak to Hermione, I'll tell her you were asking for her."

"That would be nice," Sedgewick says. "Well, I'd best be on my way. Nice to have met you, Mr. Potter!"

Mr. Potter? I stay where I am, watching as he turns and hurries back into the Department of Magical Law. That's funny - he was coming out when he bumped into me. Maybe he forgot where he was going.

_Or maybe,_ a voice in my head says, _he staged the whole thing so he could ask you about Hermione._

Ron's right, I decide, slowly making my way toward my own office. Basil Sedgewick ought to be looked into. Only it's not going to be easy - he's too damned smooth. Maybe Hermione can think of something.

**Hermione**

"Can you hear me?" I say into the mirror.

"Perfectly," Ginny answers. Her face is as clear in the glass as my own was a few seconds ago. "Nice work, Hermione - it took me and Harry ages to enchant our first pair of mirrors."

"It was a bit complicated," I agree, even though I didn't find it terribly difficult. "But now that I've got the hang of it, I should be able to finish this lot off in a few hours. Then Harry can distribute them to his whole Department."

The rest of the mirrors, as I'd thought, don't take me long at all. I'm finished by the time Harry comes home for lunch. In a way, I'm rather sorry about that. I know the Aurors can use them, but now what am I going to do?

Well, there's still my idea. I wait until Harry's halfway through his meal before bringing it up.

"I think I ought to go back to work," I announce.

Harry sets down his fork and stares at me in consternation. "You can't," he says at once. "Look, Hermione, I know it's been a bit boring for you, but - "

"It isn't because I'm bored," I say indignantly (although to be honest, it's not exactly exciting hanging about the house all day). "I hope I wouldn't be that selfish. It's so I can help you investigate Basil. And quite likely some other people as well."

Harry's silent for a moment, his eyes searching mine. "I'd been wondering how to go about it," he admits finally. "But you can't go back to the Ministry. It isn't safe - not when we don't know who's in with the Brotherhood."

"I'm sure I'd be fine," I say impatiently.

"Are you?" Harry asks quietly. "Were you fine when Talitha went after you?"

"That was years ago," I protest. "I'd be careful not to be on my own anywhere, and - "

"Forget it," Harry says. "Ron would kill me if anything happened to you."

I glare at him. "It was far more dangerous to send me into Durmstrang," I point out. "And even Gawain didn't hesitate at the idea. So that just proves - "

"That's it," Ginny interrupts.

Harry and I both turn to look at her. "That's it," Ginny repeats. "Go into the Ministry the same way you went into Durmstrang. In disguise."

Harry looks thoughtful. "In disguise," he repeats. "Do you know, it just might work. Of course, you couldn't be Delphine Thingy again - "

"I'm being English this time," I say firmly. "That French accent was hard to keep up." I think I'll carry on with the straight hair, though.

"We'll find you an identity," Harry assures me. "The Aurors have a set-up for this sort of thing." He shoots Ginny an admiring look. "That was awfully clever of you."

Ginny grins at me. "Hermione would've driven me spare, hanging about the house all day worrying about Ron," she says teasingly.

Oh dear. Ron. Something tells me he might not approve of this plan.

Harry seems to have the same idea. "I think I'm going to let you tell him," he says to me.

"Mind you don't say I thought of it," Ginny puts in quickly.

"I'm sure he'll be fine with the idea," I say, even though I'm not really very sure at all.

**Ron**

Apparently Baranov was serious when he told me to keep to my rooms. He - or someone - even went so far as to Charm my door to alert them if I stepped out. Mind, they don't know they're dealing with an Auror. They think I'm just a chess teacher. I remove the Charm easily, locking the door behind me with a Password Charm. They won't find it so easy to get back inside.

I take the long way round to Dorika's classroom to ensure that as many people see me as possible. I've timed it perfectly - everyone's on their way to their second-period classes. Kids turn to stare, and the braver ones even venture a startled greeting as I pass. I smile and say hello to everyone, even the kids whose names I don't know.

I hear someone whisper something about Professor Dumont. Damn - I'm not supposed to know she's gone. Harris would go looking for her first thing, so I take a quick detour past her classroom. As I'd expected, it's locked up.

Dorika's class - sixth-years, it looks like - are just straggling in when I arrive. "Good morning," I say, beaming round at everyone. "I'm not going to interrupt - just wanted a quick word with Professor Balog."

Dorika turns, nearly knocking over a cauldron in her astonishment. "Rodney - I mean Professor Harris!" she exclaims. "But vhat - how - "

"Long story," I say breezily. "I don't want to take up too much of your class time - unless this lot are interested in hearing about my adventure?"

They are, of course. I planned it that way. The more witnesses, the better. Dorika doesn't even need to glance at their pleading faces to know she might just as well give in if she wants to get any teaching done this morning.

"I vould very much like to hear it myself," she admits readily. "Professor, first I must ask - you are qvite all right?"

"Oh, yes," I assure her. "Well, it all began - oh, thank you, that's quite good of you." I settle myself in the chair that a sixth-year boy offers me. "As I was saying, it began when two strangers arrived at the castle."

There's not a sound while I'm speaking, and their eyes never leave my face. I'm rather enjoying myself by the time I finish the story.

A girl raises her hand. She looks rather familiar, but she's not one of my students. I nod at her, hoping to conceal the fact that I don't know her name.

"But vhere is Professor Dumont?" she asks, blushing. "Ve thought - some of us - that perhaps you and she - "

I turn to Dorika, fixing a perplexed look on my face. "Yes, where is Professor Dumont?" I ask her. "I stopped by her classroom first thing and the door was locked. Not ill, is she?"

The sixth year girl looks disappointed. "So you did not elope," she says sadly.

Elope? Wait'll I tell Hermione that one. "What is all this?" I say to Dorika.

"Professor Dumont is no longer vith us at Durmstrang," Dorika says firmly. "You must not concern yourself vith the gossip of children." She fixes the sixth-year girl with a stern look.

"But - " I say.

"You vould perhaps care to return after my class is finished?" Dorika says to me. "Ve vill have a cup of tea and I vill tell you vhat you have missed."

Her message is clear. She's not going to say anything else in front of the kids. "Right, see you in an hour, then," I say. "Or not quite an hour - I'm afraid I've stolen quite a bit of your lesson time."

"Ve are not minding, Professor," the boy who'd offered me the chair says eagerly. He catches Dorika's eye and blushes. "Perhaps you vould like to stay, Professor? Our class is very interesting, and Professor Balog is a most excellent teacher!"

Dorika can't quite hide a smile at this blatant attempt at flattery. "Stay if you like," she invites me. "Is not your subject, but perhaps you vill find it amusing."

"Sixth-year Potions was my favorite year when I was at Hogwarts," I tell her. It's true, actually - it was a relief to have a teacher who only ignored me instead of acting like he wanted to poison me. I settle back in my chair. Apart from anything else, I'm worried about being ambushed by Kirilov or Etilka when I set foot in the halls. At least I'm safe in here for a bit. And when it comes time for Dorika's next class - well, I'm sure I can find someone to walk along to the greenhouses with me. If I have my way, everyone in Durmstrang's going to have heard my story by lunch time. Then let's see what Baranov's next move is.

**Harry**

"I need your help with something," I say, after thoroughly checking Kingsley's office for Eavesdropping Charms.

"I was an Auror," Kingsley says, looking amused. "Do you really think that I don't go over every inch of this room every time I enter it?"

I look at him apologetically. "Sorry," I say. "I'm afraid it's gotten to be a bit of a habit."

"And a good one," Kingsley acknowledges. "How can I help you, Harry?"

"I need a job for someone," I say.

Kingsley reaches for a quill. "Friend of yours?" he asks.

"Er - not exactly," I say. "And you may just as well know that it'll only be a temporary job, so it doesn't matter much what it is. Although Magical Law would be the best, if you can manage it."

"Ah," Kingsley says, looking interested. "One of _those_ jobs. I was a Muggle Secretary myself, once."

"I heard the Muggle Prime Minister didn't want to let you go," I say, grinning.

"Your father-in-law was disappointed, too," Kingsley says, returning the smile. "He kept at me for hours, wanting to hear all about printers and copying machines." His face turns businesslike. "But you want a position for your - er - friend. And I suppose it would be better not to involve you in any way?"

I nod.

"Magical Law might be a bit tricky," Kingsley says thoughtfully. "The requirements are very stringent, and it would call attention if your protégée were to be hired without the usual qualifications. Unless he or she is able to produce them?"

I shake my head. "I'm afraid she's only got five OWLs," I say. "No NEWTs at all." Hermione's not going to be pleased about that part, but it was the best I could do unless she wants to masquerade as a man. Most of our good aliases are already in use.

"Hmm," Kingsley says thoughtfully. "What's her name?"

"Swanhilda Dillweed," I say. Hermione's probably not going to be wild about _that_, either, but she won't mind it half so much as the five OWLs.

Kingsley looks delighted. "That sounds familiar," he says. "Is Swanhilda a former Hufflepuff with no close relations?"

I nod.

"I thought that one up myself," Kingsley says with intense satisfaction. "It's about time someone used her." He leans forward. "Now, it's entirely up to you, but I always pictured Swanhilda as a blonde."

"Did you?" I say dryly. "And where did you picture her working?"

Kingsley looks thoughtful again. "Did quite well in History of Magic, didn't she?" he says. "Why not put her in Magical Records?"

"Ernie's got two new people already," I point out.

Kingsley looks briefly disappointed. "Has he?" His face brightens. "He can do with one more. I have it on the best authority that Magical Records is about to receive a very large shipment of papers that need cataloguing."

"Are they?" I say, surprised.

"Well, they needn't actually receive it," Kingsley points out. "They just have to think it's coming." He nods decisively. "Send Pandora in when you leave, Harry. I'll take things from here."

"Thanks," I say, getting to my feet. "I'll tell Swanhilda she can start tomorrow, then."

"Blonde, indeed," Hermione says with a snort, when I give her the news. "And really, Harry - no NEWTs _at all_?"

"Maybe you ought to go with green hair for the Dillweed bit," Ginny says, grinning. "I'll help you with your disguise, if you like."

It takes them awhile, and there's a good deal of giggling going on in Hermione and Ron's room. I can't help being curious. "Can I have a look?" I ask through the door.

I hardly recognize the elderly witch who emerges. "Hermione?" I say doubtfully.

"It's Miss Dillweed, but you may call me Swanhilda if you like," she informs me, in a rather quavery voice. She clutches the knitted shawl more closely around her shoulders and offers me a vague smile that sort of reminds me of Luna's.

"Poor Ernie," I say. "Are you going to offer to knit him a shawl like yours?"

"I thought an older woman would be the best choice," Hermione explains. "A witch like that Alicia Ernie's got working for him won't pay much mind to me, and likely the foreign wizard won't either."

"Especially if you pretend to be a little bit deaf," Ginny says eagerly. "People won't care what they say in front of you."

I leave them to it. "I've got to go out," I say. "Don't forget to talk to Ron at eight."

"As if I would," Hermione says, reaching at once for her wand to remove the disguise.

I kiss Ginny. "Don't wait up," I say, but I'm secretly pleased to find her still awake when I come home several hours later.

"How was Ron?" I ask, sitting down on the bed next to her.

"All right," Ginny says. "Hermione said he thought the Durmstrang lot were trying to keep his return a secret, so he made sure to talk to as many people as possible. The headmaster wasn't awfully pleased, but there wasn't anything he could do about it." She yawns. "Hermione thinks Ron ought to come home again, but he says it's fine and he's being careful."

Trying to keep him hidden - that's not a good sign. But Ron did the right thing. I'd like to talk to him myself, but it's nearly two in the morning there. "Did she tell him about going to work in Magical Records?" I ask.

Ginny giggles sleepily. "She was a bit annoyed because Ron wouldn't stop laughing about her being called Swanhilda Dillweed," she says.

That doesn't sound like he's upset, anyway. Not that there's any reason to be - I wouldn't let Hermione do it if I thought there was any danger. But Ron's not always reasonable where she's concerned.

"Ron's going to contact you at seven in the morning his time," Ginny remembers. "That's five o'clock for us, so I set the alarm for you."

_Five?_ Bloody hell. "Thanks," I say, dropping a kiss on her hair. "I'll try not to wake you."

**Hermione**

I slip into the Ladies and check my disguise in the glass one more time before approaching the reception desk.

"Miss Dillweed to see Mr. MacMillan, please," I say to the guard. I make sure to let my voice tremble just a bit.

"New employee, aren't you?" the guard says. "You'll need to stop by Wizarding Resources first. They've some forms for you to fill out."

I cup my ear and lean toward him. "Sorry?" I say.

"I said - ah, here's MacMillan!" the guard says, looking relieved.

Ernie's manners, as always, are excellent. He doesn't betray any of the consternation he's probably feeling at the sight of yet another useless staff member. I silently vow to prove him wrong. Swanhilda may not have gotten any NEWTs, but she's going to be a brilliant Magical Records clerk.

"Wizarding Resources says the paperwork's already been taken care of," Ernie tells me. "So we can go straight to Magical Records and you can meet the rest of the staff."

I give him a fluttery smile. "So kind of you," I say in my old-lady voice. "I just know you were a Hufflepuff at school!"

Ernie looks startled but pleased. "As a matter of fact, I was," he says, beaming.

"So was I," I say. "One can always tell, I think."

We've reached the department by then. Ernie introduces me first to Alicia. Hmm. No, he was quite right - she's a twit. Axel, on the other hand, may bear closer watching.

"I'll let you spend some time familiarizing yourself with the layout," Ernie says, after showing me round. "And then we'll see if you can manage the Returns desk."

I lean forward inquiringly. "Sorry?" I say, hand to my ear.

_"Returns,"_ Ernie bellows.

I beam at him. "I'm sure I'll be just fine," I say.

There's nothing complicated about doing the Returns, although they have rather let them stack up a bit. I wish this lot would all go to lunch or something so I could get it all sorted - it's taking me ages with my old-lady shuffle.

I keep an eye on my co-workers as I toddle back and forth between the desk and the shelves. Alicia's supposed to be handling Inquiries, but she's been flirting with a wizard from Magical Games and Sports for the last fifteen minutes. He seems to be on the verge of asking her to lunch.

Axel, now… what's he reading so intently? By dropping an atlas next to his foot, I manage to get a quick look. It's hard to tell exactly, but it looks like a list of Ministry staff.

"Are you looking for someone, dear?" I ask. No harm in just asking, is there?

Axel gives me a startled look and turns the parchment over. "I am just vondering who are some of these peoples I am seeing in the lift," he says evasively.

I thought Ernie said he was German? His accent sounds a lot more like the ones I heard at Durmstrang. "You're not English," I say smiling at him. "You speak it quite well, but there's a bit of an accent."

"No, I vas born in Germany," Axel says.

_Oh, no, you weren't,_ I say to him silently. Most people likely wouldn't notice the difference, but I've spent enough time around Bulgarians lately to be able to tell. I make a mental note to tell Harry. "I hope you like it here," I say, heading back to the Returns desk.

There's only one thing left to be put away - a large, album-shaped book with a faded cover. The title's almost obliterated, but I can make out the words _geneology_ and _history_ on the front. I leaf through - carefully, because of its age. It's nothing but family trees - dozens of them. Here's the Black one that's in Grimmauld Place (only without the blasted-off bits in this version), and here are the Malfoys… I turn the page with a faint feeling of distaste. Here are the Weasleys - there's Ron's name - and goodness, they've already got me on there. The book must update itself.

I wonder, now… I flip through the pages till I come to the Gamps. Oh dear - there's Perdita and Marvin's baby. The Gamps aren't going to be pleased when they see he's called "Ronald", but maybe they won't make the connection.

I'm about to put the book away when a sudden thought occurs to me. "How do we tell who had something last?" I ask Alicia.

She barely glances over her shoulder. "Card inside the back cover," she answers, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. "If it's damaged beyond repair, they have to pay for it, mind!"

_Not much different than the Hogwarts library,_ I think, opening the back cover. I recognize the handwriting on the card straight away, but I pull it out of its pocket to be sure. Just as I'd thought, the name scrawled on the line is "B. Sedgewick".

**Ron**

They're watching me all the time now. Every time I leave my classroom, one of them materializes from nowhere and drifts along at my side. Usually it's Baranov - he seems to have a bit more mobility than the other two. At least he makes an effort to chat - Kirilov and Etilka generally stalk along next to me in grim silence.

I do my best to put them off by being exceedingly predictable and boring. I teach my classes, I go to meals, and I occasionally drop in for tea with Dorika or out to the greenhouses for a chat with Cesar. Other than that, I keep to my rooms.

Except sometimes - late at night - I do a Disillusionment Charm and take a little stroll through the corridors. I haven't come across anything interesting yet, but I reckon it's only a matter of time.

My "class" with the four seventh-year boys is no longer in session. I asked Kirilov about it on my first day back, and was told rather abruptly that there was no need for it.

"Grigor has returned to his home," Kirilov said. "His health is not good. He is a delicate boy, you understand."

Grigor's about as delicate as a mountain troll, but I'd nodded as though it made perfect sense. "Of course," I'd said. "And the others?"

"The others must now concentrate on their other subjects," Kitrilov said smoothly. "Vith examinations coming up, they have not now the time."

Well, it's not like I miss them, but one of them might have let something slip. Evidently Kirilov was afraid of the same thing.

I do miss the half-blood kids, especially Anya. Dorika would only tell me at first that an exchange program had been arranged with Hogwarts, but when I pressed she broke down and told me they'd been stolen away by the same pair who kidnapped me. "It vas little Anya who told me she vas afraid for you," she'd said. "I vas most relieved to see you alive, Professor!"

It's occurred to me more than once that I might take Dorika into my confidence. I wouldn't tell her who I really am, of course, but I know she suspects something weird's going on at Durmstrang. But when I suggested it to Harry, he was dead set against it.

In the end, the decision's made for me.

No one comes to see me in the evenings now, and I'm a bit startled to hear a knock on my door at a little past nine. _Damn it,_ I think, annoyed. My last dose of Polyjuice only has about ten minutes left to run, so I hastily swig down some more before opening the door.

I'm careful - I'm always careful, these days - but it's only Dorika.

"I hope I am not disturbing you, Professor," she says, glancing over her shoulder as she speaks. "I vish only to discuss further our thoughts of using Potions in Chess vhich ve spoke of this afternoon."

What the hell is she talking about? Something must be up. I open the door wider. "Yes, I think it'll be most interesting," I say loudly.

Dorika scurries in and I lock the door behind her. I motion for her to hang on, and then do a _Muffliato_ Charm. (I do a fresh Soundproofing Charm every day, but I'm rather fond of old _Muffliato_. It's gotten me out of some tight spots.) If Dorika asks, I'll just tell her it's a well-known charm in England.

"It's all right, you can speak freely in here," I say.

Dorika only nods. "You are very qvick," she says appreciatively.

"It was a bit obvious," I say. "I mean, how the hell would anyone use Potions in Chess? Unless it was Veritaserum, but that's not allowed."

Dorika offers me a faint half-smile. "Professor, perhaps I am wrong to tell you this," she says. "If so, I beg you vill forgive."

I give her an encouraging look.

"Something there is that is not right here at Durmstrang!" Dorika bursts out.

Couldn't have said it better myself. "Yes," I say. "I quite agree."

"Is not just vhat has happened to you, and the half-blood children," Dorika says. "Something… something this term has not been right. Perhaps even before. I am noticing… but I am saying to myself that I am a foolish old voman."

"You're not old, and you're definitely not a fool," I say firmly. (I sound a bit like Hermione.) "I've noticed it, too. There are certain people - professors - " I stop and wait for Dorika to finish the sentence for me.

"Fyodor," Dorika says with a sigh. "And Etilka, too - and perhaps Andor, although he has alvays been a bit strange." Her eyes meet mine. "Even Sergei," she says in a whisper. "I am hoping at first that he is not involved, but now I am afraid…"

"Involved in what?" I ask. Maybe I won't have to tell her anything about what I'm really doing at Durmstrang.

"That I am not knowing," Dorika admits.

Right. Maybe I will. Or maybe…

"Let's try and find out," I suggest. "We could do a bit of investigating on the quiet."

Dorika hesitates for a second; then nods. "Yes," she says at last. "For the sake of the students, I think ve must do our best to uncover vhat is happening."

Excellent. "We mustn't make them suspicious," I warn. "Do you think you could try to question Baranov when he's alone? He's easily the stu - er, the least likely to catch on."

The slight smile on Dorika's face tells me she knows what I was about to say. "Better it is that ve find out vhat they are saying vhen no vun is there," she says practically. "There is a potion - better than a Disillusionment Charm - "

"There's a potion that makes people invisible?" I ask incredulously. How is it that the Aurors don't know about this?

Dorika smiles shyly. "I am inventing it myself," she says. "But I assure you, I have many times tested it and it is vorking perfectly. Vell, Professor? Vill ve try?"

"Why not?" I say. "I'll come back to your office with you now. Mind you talk very loudly on the way about the Sleeping Draught you're going to give me to help with my insomnia."

"You are very good at this," Dorika says. "Almost I vould think you have done it before."

**Harry**

"Morning, Arthur," I say, sticking my head into my-father-in-law's office. "Could I have a quick word?"

Arthur looks up and beams at me. "Come in, Harry," he invites. "What can I do for you?"

"It's what I can do for you," I say, pulling four tickets out of my robe pocket and brandishing them at him. "What would you say to seeing the Tornadoes play Puddlemere United this Saturday?"

Arthur reaches eagerly for the tickets, looking as young as one of his own sons. "These are impossible to get hold of," he breathes. "They're like gold! Harry, how did you ever manage - "

"Gwenog gave them to Ginny," I say. "We thought you and Molly might like to join us. We might have lunch somewhere first - there's quite a good wizarding pub at Puddlemere."

"Wait till George finds out," Arthur says happily. "_And_ Bill! Harry, are you sure you and Ginny want to drag two old folks along? This is one of the most anticipated matches of the season, after all, and - "

"And Ginny and I would rather go with you two than anyone else," I say firmly. "What about it? Will you come?"

"If Molly's got anything else on this weekend, we'll cancel it," Arthur promises happily. He frowns suddenly. "Funny, I'd thought the Harpies were playing on Saturday as well."

"Did you?" I say lamely. "Er, shall we say half-past twelve at the Puddlemere pub, then?"

I hurry out before Arthur can question me further. Ginny and I decided we'd tell them our big news on Saturday, but I don't want to slip and tell her dad without her being there. "The idea would never even cross his mind," Ginny had said calmly this morning, but it seems to me that it'd be the first thing likely to occur to a man who'd had seven of his own.

I spot Hermione through the open doorway of the Magical Records department and smile to myself. She accomplished more in one day than Dawlish managed in a month. And speaking of Dawlish, oughtn't he to be back by now?

"Maybe you ought to have sent someone after him," Persimmon says thoughtfully when I inquire. "Just to keep an eye out, you know."

"I couldn't spare anyone," I say, truthfully enough. "We're already short-handed, and the contest was legitimate. I checked on it myself. It's just that he ought to have returned." I Summon the weekly schedule and look it over anxiously. "I couldn't spare anyone to follow Dawlish before, and I can't spare anyone to go looking for him now, either," I tell Persimmon.

The words remind me of something. Someone else who never returned from a holiday… bloody hell, Bertha Jorkins. I groan to myself. No one went looking for Bertha Jorgens, either, and look what happened to her.

Persimmon takes the schedule from me and looks it over calmly. "You're quite right," she says. "You certainly can't spare anyone. Except, possibly, for me."

I stare at her. "What?" I say, not very brilliantly.

"I'm a qualified Auror," Persimmon reminds me. "It's only Gawain who thinks I'm too old for active duty - which is absolute nonsense, as he ought to know very well! I'm no older than he is." She sighs and shakes her head. "In any case, I'm perfectly capable of tracking down John Dawlish and finding out why he hasn't returned." She gives me an expectant look. "Well, Harry? What do you say?"

"I - well, why not?" I say. I'd never openly disagree with Gawain, but I've often thought Persimmon rather has a point there. And as she says, it's not exactly a dangerous assignment. "Will you go in disguise?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Persimmon says, clearly delighted. "No one pays much attention to batty old ladies, you know!"

Hermione said something similar about her Swanhilda disguise. _Maybe I'd better start paying more attention to elderly witches,_ I think.

Persimmon's already planning. "You'll be quite all right if you stick to the schedule," she says, handing it back. "All right if I leave straight away, then?"

"Why not?" I say again, fighting the panicky thought that I'll never manage the Department without her.

Once she's gone, I have a new worry. Supposing Gawain comes back and finds I've let Persimmon go off on an Auror mission?

And even worse - supposing Gawain doesn't come back? 

**Hermione**

Basil shows up just as we're getting ready to close for the day.

"I'm terribly sorry," he says, giving me a charming smile. "I know you're probably anxious to get home, but could I possibly trouble you for just a few moments?"

I can be charming right back. "It's Mr. Sedgewick, isn't it?" I say, widening my eyes. "One of my neighbors met you when she came to see the Wizengamut with her Activities Club. She said you were a delightful young man." Elderly women's clubs and groups of children are always coming in to see the Wizengamut in action. It's part of Kingsley's plan to make the Ministry more accessible. Some of the Wizengamut members hate it, but Basil adores showing off.

Now he beams at me. "Of course, I remember her well," he lies.

I give him a fluttery old dear smile in return. "I'm sure you're a terribly busy man, so I mustn't take up too much of your time," I say. "How may I assist you?"

Basil looks around, but I'm the only one there. Ernie had a meeting, so Alicia skived off half an hour early, and Axel's in the back, probably reading something which is absolutely none of his business. "Well," he says, leaning his elbows on the counter and lowering his voice confidentially. "I wonder if you can keep a secret?"

I lower my voice, too. "Of course," I breathe.

Basil looks around again, rather unnecessarily. "I'm working on something very important," he says. "I can't give you all the details just yet, but I can assure you that I have the Minister's utmost confidence in this."

I can assure him that he most certainly _doesn't_, but I nod eagerly.

"Certain aspects of the project require a great deal of research," Basil explains. "But my time is so limited - the Wizengamut demands a great deal of me, you understand - that I find myself under a bit of a strain. Do you think you could possibly find it in your heart to help me?"

Amazing. He used the exact same line on me when he was trying to get me to look into the food preferences of the elder members of the Wizengamut so he could impress them all at a dinner party. I didn't fall for it then, either.

Now, however, I nod happily. "There's nothing I'd enjoy more," I assure him.

"It will all have to be kept in confidence, you understand," Basil cautions. He winks at me. "It'll be our little secret."

I don't think Swanhilda's the winking type, so I content myself with offering a tremulous smile. "It sounds most exciting," I say. "What do you need me to do?"

**Ron**

I'm a bit nervous about taking Dorika's potion. I know she said it was safe, but what if she slipped up on the ingredients the last time she made it?

Dorika unlocks a drawer and pulls out a small glass bottle. "One dose is strong enough for an hour, maybe," she says, frowning in concentration. "It vill be enough, do you think?"

"Bring it with us," I suggest. "If we still need to be invisible at the end of an hour, we can always have another dose." I've sort of grown used to thinking like this, seeing as I always need to have Polyjuice handy.

Dorika nods; then carefully pours a small amount of liquid into two tea cups. I peer into mine nervously. It just looks like water. All the same, I let Dorika drink hers first.

For a moment nothing happens - and then, quite suddenly, she's gone. "Dorika?" I say uncertainly.

A hand grasps my arm. "I am telling you it is a very good potion, am I not?" Dorika's voice demands.

"So you were," I say, and swallow my own. It doesn't taste like anything, but when I look down at myself, I've disappeared.

"Fyodor and Etilka vere to join Sergei in his rooms for a glass of _schnapps_ this evening," Dorika says in a whisper. "I am overhearing him invite them after dinner. Perhaps they are still there."

"It's worth a look," I say.

Our footsteps are loud on the stone steps, and I pull out my wand and send a Silencing Charm at my feet. "I'd do yours if I knew where they were," I whisper to Dorika.

"Is done," Dorika says briefly. "Come, ve must make no noise."

It occurs to me that I might not be the only one who's done this before, but there's no time to question her now. Dorika and I hurry up the stairs to the headmaster's office, doing our best not to bump into each other. I stop at the foot of the last flight of stairs to catch my breath, putting out a hand to catch Dorika's arm. I don't want to give the whole thing away by panting like a dog when we're trying to eavesdrop. Bloody Harris gained back all the weight I lost for him - I can't think how he managed it so quickly.

"Okay," I whisper, when my breathing's slowed to normal.

Baranov's door is closed, of course. I put my ear to it, but I can't hear anything. I hesitate only for a second before feeding the end of a pair of Extendable Ears underneath.

"Vhat is that?" Dorika whispers.

"I bought them in a joke-shop," I whisper back. (It's not a lie, either - George made me pay for them, even though I'm his own brother.) "Let's see if they work."

They do, of course. Not that it's going to do me any good, since they're all speaking Bulgarian. But this time, I have Dorika.

I concentrate on keeping quiet so I won't interfere with her listening. Dorika's silent, and I wish I could see her expression to get some idea of what's going on.

"Now they are coming," Dorika whispers finally. "Ve must stay out of the vay."

We jump aside just as the door opens. Etilka hurries out, looking annoyed. Kirilov follows close on her heels. He says something to her in a low voice, but she shakes her head and barks something back at him that makes him stop in his tracks.

I feel Dorika's hand on my arm. "My office," she whispers.

The Invisibility Potion's still going strong, but I manage to make it through Dorika's office door before she shuts and locks it.

"Now vould be a good time to do that charm for speaking in privacy again," Dorika says.

_Muffliato_, she means. I oblige with one. "I'll teach it to you after we're visible, if you like," I offer. "It's - er - quite well-known in England."

"Is very useful," Dorika says, pleased. "And after vhat I have heard tonight, I am thinking ve vill have much need of it."

"Yeah, about that," I prompt.

Dorika takes a deep breath. "I vas right," she says simply. "Something there is vhich is not good is happening at Durmstrang. Vhen Kirilov - "

She stops abruptly.

"When Kirilov what?" I say.

Dorika doesn't answer, and I suddenly realize I can see her again. Which means she can see - oh, bloody hell. Not Harris. Me. My Polyjuice has worn off.

"Who are you?" Dorika asks. She doesn't look frightened; just puzzled.

I hastily weigh my limited options. I could do a Memory Charm on her… only not, because I haven't heard what happened in Baranov's study yet. I could lie to her… if I can think up something believable fast enough. Or I could just tell her the truth and hope she doesn't sell me out to the Brotherhood.

Dorika's wand is pointing at me. "It's all right," I say quickly, deciding to go with the truth. "I know I don't look the way you're accustomed to seeing me, but - "

"You look familiar," Dorika says, staring. "Is the right word, yes? I am knowing you, only not."

I've been at Durmstrang long enough to be able to translate this with no difficulty. "You've likely seen my picture in the newspapers," I say. "My name - my real name - is Ron Weasley. I'm an Auror." I might just as well go with the truth. Dorika's on our side, even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Veasley," Dorika repeats. "The Veasley of Harry Potter? _That_ Veasley?"

"Yeah, that's me," I admit.

Dorika's face is suddenly wreathed in smiles. "But is vunderful!" she exclaims. "Never did I think I vould be meeting vun of the Heroes of Hogvarts!"

Bit embarrassing, that, isn't it? "Yeah, well," I say. "That was a long time ago."

"But vhy have you come here?" Dorika demands. "And vhy are you disguising yourself as a chess professor?"

I take a deep breath. "Swear you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you?" I say.

"I svear," Dorika says solemnly, but her eyes are sparkling.

I give her an abbreviated version of the story, but it still takes a while to tell it. Dorika's not smiling anymore by the time I've finished.

"I have known for some time that things vere not vell here," she says quietly. "The Brotherhood of Blood - yes, I have heard of them before, but alvays I am thinking they are not real; that they are a story to frighten children vith. To think that Sergei - that all of them…" She breaks off, shaking her head.

"It's true enough," I say. "But we can stop them."

It's as though I hadn't spoken. "And in _my_ school vhich I have given my heart to for all of these years," Dorika says, suddenly angry. "Vhere _my_ students are! Is _vrong_! I vill not allow this!" Her furious eyes meet mine. "Mr. Veasley, I vill help you. Vhat do you need me to do?"

"You can start by telling me what you overheard tonight," I say. "And if you can think of anything else that's happened this year that seemed a bit out of place at the time…"

"The Divination voman," Dorika says at once.

I grin at her. "That was my wife," I say. "Good try, though. Anything else?"

**Harry**

"Hot milk?" the man at the refreshment stand asks incredulously. "Who the hell drinks hot milk at a Quidditch match?"

"My wife," I explain. "She's pregnant, and - "

"Say no more," the man says, putting up a hand to stop me. "Been there myself, lad! Only with my wife it was hot cocoa - even in the middle of summer!" He shakes his head. "Your first one, is it?"

"Yeah," I say, accepting the foaming cup gratefully. "Oh, and I'll have three butterbeers as well."

"You look a bit pale, if you don't mind me saying," the man says, taking the coins I hand him. "It gets easier, lad. I ought to know - I've got five at home!" He grins at me. "Take my advice and get all the sleep you can now - it'll be your last for a good bit."

"Thanks," I say, offering him a smile as I turn away. With a hat pulled down covering my scar, and a Puddlemere United muffler covering the lower half of my face, I feel blissfully anonymous as I make my way through the crowd. Ginny and her parents are as bundled up against the cold as I am, and so far no one's given us a second glance.

"Here you are," I say, handing Ginny her hot milk. "All right, love? Not getting too cold, are you?"

"I'm fine," Ginny assures me, looking dubiously into the cup. "Mum, are you sure - "

"It's the best thing for you, in your condition," Molly says firmly.

"Right," Ginny says, glancing longingly at the butterbeers the rest of us are drinking.

"Listen to your Mum, Ginny," Arthur puts in. "She knows what she's about." He and Molly beam fondly at each other, then at their daughter.

"September!" Molly says happily. "Oh, I can hardly wait! As soon as we get home I'm going to start knitting him a little shawl."

I love how all the Weasleys are so sure it's going to be a boy. "It could be a girl, you know," I say teasingly. "Bill's had two of them."

"Yes, but Fleur's part veela, dear," Molly says, patting me on the arm. "They often - oh my goodness. Isn't that Rita Skeeter over there?"

Oh, please not. But of course it is. "Duck down," I urge the Weasleys, tugging Ginny's scarf a little higher.

Too late - she's looking straight at us. "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter," she says, pushing her way into our box and leaning familiarly against the railing. "It must be at least six weeks since I saw you last." She includes Ginny in her meaningful smirk.

It isn't, quite, but it doesn't matter. "Send me an owl on Monday," I say resignedly. "I'll give you a quote for your column."

Rita nods in satisfaction. "What about you two?" she demands, suddenly turning on Molly and Arthur. The Quick Quotes Quill appears from nowhere. "Thrilled to be grandparents, are you?"

"Why, how did you kn-" Molly begins, but Arthur gives her a warning look.

"Hello, Rita," he says mildly. "Who do you support - Puddlemere or the Tornadoes?"

"I couldn't be less interested in the match," Rita tells him. "The _real_ stories are here in the stands." Eying him intently, she asks, "Heard anything from your youngest son?"

"That's enough, Rita," I say.

"Oh, all right," Rita says good-humoredly. "Worth a try, wasn't it?" She starts to leave, but turns back to add, "Seen the Malfoys? I think Narcissa's gone off a bit in looks."

"I shouldn't wonder," Molly says eagerly.

"They've got the Greengrass girl with them," Rita informs her. "Horatio Greengrass isn't best pleased with that match, according to a few of my sources."

I give in. "Where are they sitting?" I ask.

Rita points to a box on the other side of the stadium.

"Good," Ginny says in my ear. "We won't be likely to run into them if they're way over there."

Rita pulls out a pair of omniculars and trains them shamelessly on the Malfoys' box. "Who's that with them, I wonder?" she remarks. "He looks like a foreigner."

I grin to myself. I'll bet it's Grigor. Draco can't be too pleased, having to drag him along on a family outing. "Why don't you go and find out?" I suggest, none too subtly.

"I'd think the Aurors would be concerned with who Lucius Malfoy's hanging about with these days," is Rita's parting shot.

Molly waits till she's gone before saying, "That must be the Bulgarian boy Percy told us about. He's a house guest of theirs or something."

"_Ought_ the Aurors to be concerned?" Arthur leans forward to ask me.

"We know all about it," I assure him. "Look - the teams are coming out!" _Thank you, teams - nice timing on your part._

We all wave madly at Oliver Wood - now the official Puddlemere Keeper - but his eyes never leave his opponents.

"Same old Oliver!" Ginny says, amused. "I suppose he had the whole team up at dawn for one of his little strategy sessions."

I've been looking forward to the chance to lose myself in a Quidditch match, and for the next two hours I do just that. The score's tied when the Tornadoes call for a time-out.

With what seems to be perfect timing, I hear Ron's voice from my pocket. _It's almost as though he waited for a break in the action,_ I think wryly.

"Excuse me, everyone," I say, getting to my feet. "I'll be right back."

I hurry to a secluded spot under the stands and take out the mirror.

**Hermione**

Basil's request left me a bit confused.

"I need you to find out everything you can about these people," he'd said, pushing a bit of parchment across the desk at me. "Don't let anyone see you doing it, mind!"

He'd given me another charming smile on his way out of the room. "I'll be in the office tomorrow," he'd said. "Supposing I come by at around two?"

I'd nodded, only realizing after he'd gone that the next day was Saturday. Not that it mattered, of course. Basil had - rather accurately - assumed Swanhilda wouldn't have anything better to do over the weekend.

"And neither have I," I realize, settling down to look at the list again. Just as I'd said last night when I'd shown it to Harry, most of the names on it belong to people we suspect of having ties to the Brotherhood.

"Maybe they approached him and he wants to find out who they are," I'd suggested.

"Maybe he wants to get something on them as a bit of insurance," Harry had answered cynically. "Go on and give him what he wants - but just the bare minimum. Stick to the known facts about each one."

_All very well for Harry to say,_ I think now, as I scan the long shelves of Records. There simply _aren't_ any known facts about some of these people. Eldon Gamp, for instance, doesn't exist. Of course, the reason he doesn't exist is because he's really Simon Parkinson, but I can't very well tell Basil that.

I decide, finally, to make something up. It makes me think of Ron and Harry inventing horrible fates for themselves in Divination, and I'm smiling to myself as I put the finishing touches on the list.

"Someone's happy today," Basil remarks jovially from the doorway.

I start, wondering how long he's been standing there. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sedgewick," I say brightly. "Two o'clock already?"

"I'm a bit early," Basil admits. "It's quite all right if you haven't finished yet."

So I should think, seeing as it's supposed to be my day off. "Oh, I've managed to put something together for you," I say. "Have a look."

Basil takes the roll of parchment eagerly. "You're a wonder, Miss - er - Dillweed," he says, glancing at the nameplate on my desk.

"Oh, call me Swanhilda, dear," I say.

To Basil's credit, he manages to keep a straight face. Really, he was born to go into politics. "Swanhilda," he repeats obediently. "I won't forget what a great help you've been to me."

"I quite enjoyed it," I say. "Such a pleasure to know I'm still useful at my age! And helping such a nice young man, too!"

Basil brightens. "In that case, could I possibly ask another favor?" he says.

Pushy, isn't he? But I want to find out what he's up to. "Of course, dear," I say.

He makes a show of looking around again. Honestly. It's Saturday - no one's here but us. "I - " he starts, and then hesitates. "Do you know, it's the strangest thing, but you remind me of someone," he says abruptly. "Have you by any chance got a daughter - no, a granddaughter?"

"The late Mr. Dillweed and I weren't blessed with children," I say sadly, but my heart is pounding. Even Ernie didn't notice a resemblance - why has Basil got to be so observant all of a sudden?

"It's not possible, anyway," Basil says, much to my relief. "The person I'm thinking of is a Muggle-born; you couldn't possibly - er, what were we talking about?"

"You needed a favor," I prompt. Another one.

"Ah, yes," Basil says briskly. "There's a Bulgarian lad called Grigor Androchev visiting the Malfoys. Young Draco's brought him into the Ministry on a number of occasions."

"Oh, yes," I say eagerly. "I saw them in the Café one day. I didn't think the boy looked quite bright, but perhaps it was just that he doesn't understand much English."

Basil coughs. "That may be part of it," he says. "In any case, I'd like to know a bit more about this visitor. Could you look into it for me? Find out what his connection is to the Malfoys. I don't believe he's a relative, although I suppose I could be mistaken."

"Of course, dear," I say automatically. Honestly, what is Basil up to? It almost seems as though he's on _our_ side, doesn't it?

Basil's on his way out. "Monday morning too soon?" he asks.

"Not at all," I say. That should give me plenty of time to talk this over with Harry and decide what I'm going to tell Basil.

Basil pauses to look me over one more time. "Really, the resemblance is extraordinary," he murmurs to himself.

I'm not sure whether I ought to worry or not. Basil's always seeing family resemblances where there aren't any. He once wasted (his word) an entire evening chatting up a girl who he swore was the daughter of the Head of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, only to find that she was no relation at all.

I start to gather my things together, then stop. It's an awfully good opportunity to go through Axel's desk, isn't it? I ignore the little voice in my head that tells me sternly that I'm snooping. It's for the Aurors, after all - it's not as though _I_ care.

In any case, it doesn't matter. The drawers are disappointingly empty of anything. There's not even a spare quill lying about. Alicia's desk (my conscience twinges even more) yields nothing but a half-eaten bar of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate and a book about horoscopes.

_Well, that was a waste of time, wasn't it?_ I think, pulling on my cloak.

The empty corridor looks dark after I've locked the Magical Records office behind me. It's later than I thought, I realize, glancing up at the windows. Even Basil's probably gone home by now.

I start at the sound of footsteps. Suddenly, ridiculously, I'm frightened. It's probably only another overachiever putting in his Saturday hours, but all the same… I duck into a nearby alcove and wait, heart pounding.

It may be dim in the corridor, but I have no trouble recognizing the wizard hurrying past me. He pushes the button for the lift; then, apparently deciding not to wait, rushes off in the direction of the stairs.

_Now that's odd,_ I think, stepping into the lift (which obligingly arrives just as I reach it). _What on earth is Draco Malfoy doing here on a weekend?_

**Harry**

"What is it?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. "What's happened?"

"All sorts of things," Ron says, not troubling to keep his own excitement in check. "For one thing, Dorika knows who I am, and - " He pauses, evidently trying to see over my shoulder. "Are you at a Quidditch match?" he asks. "Who's playing?"

"What do you mean, she knows who you are?" I demand, ignoring his last question.

"My Polyjuice wore off while I was invisible," Ron explains. "Dorika's Invisibility Potion must have done something to it, because it should've lasted for at least another fifteen minutes. Only it's all right - she's on our side. She's helping me."

I start to speak, but a prolonged bout of cheering from the stadium makes it impossible for him to hear me.

"Someone's just scored," Ron says, brightening. "Who's winning?"

The Weasleys all have one-track minds when it comes to Quidditch. "Either Puddlemere or the Tornadoes," I say, giving in. "The score was tied when I left."

"You got your hands on tickets to that one?" Ron says incredulously. "I'd have waited if I'd known."

There's such a thing as being _too_ devoted to a sport. "Never mind about Quidditch," I say impatiently. "What's this Invisibility Potion you're talking about?"

"Dorika invented it," Ron explains. "It works really well, except that you don't get much warning when it's about to wear off."

I stare disbelievingly into the mirror. "You took a potion someone invented?" I say. "Don't you think that was a bit - " I want to say "stupid" but content myself with "- reckless?"

Ron shrugs. "Dorika took some first," he explains. "Er, don't tell Hermione, though, all right?"

"I'm not saying a word to her," I say, meaning it. Hermione'd prefer to yell at Ron, but I make a perfectly acceptable substitute. "Why were you being invisible, anyway?"

"I was just getting to that," Ron answers. "Baranov had Etilka and Kirilov in his office, so Dorika and I drank some Invisibility Potion and listened in. They were speaking Bulgarian, of course, but Dorika translated. From what she said, it sounds like things are happening a lot faster than we'd planned on. Jeremy Gamp's probably on his way here, and - "

"Gamp's on his way there?" I repeat, startled.

"Well, they've sent for him, so I wouldn't be surprised to see him show up," Ron says. "They want to hurry up with whatever it is they're planning, because they think Hermione was a spy - which she was, of course - and Kirilov thinks I'm one, too, but Etilka thinks I'm too stupid."

"Okay," I say, thinking fast. "I'm going to get hold of Jackson - he's supposed to be following Gamp today - and find out if he's picked up on anything. Meanwhile, sit tight and - you're sure you can trust this Dorika?"

"Absolutely," Ron says firmly.

I'll have to take his word for it. "Right," I say. "I'll get back to you as soon as I hear from Jackson. Meanwhile, if Gamp does show up, grab Dorika and follow him. It's lucky you've got her as a translator, but - be careful, all right?"

"I will," Ron promises.

I put the mirror back in my pocket, wishing I had the one that matched Jackson's. I could send a Patronus, but they tend to be a bit noticeable and I don't want to give away Jackson's cover. O'Connor's somewhere inside, though - she was trailing the Malfoys today. She can call Jackson for me.

I turn back toward the stadium, just as a loud roar erupts from the stands. Someone must have caught the Snitch.

I'm just in time to meet the family coming out. "Puddlemere won," Ginny says, slipping her hand into mine. "It was brilliant, Harry - it's a shame you missed it." Her eyes search mine. "Everything all right?"

"Perfect," I lie. I lean close and whisper. "Keep an eye out for O'Connor. I need to catch her before she leaves."

"Where's she likely to be?" Ginny asks, her sharp eyes already scanning the crowd.

"Near the Malfoys," I answer.

Molly and Arthur come hurrying up. "Lots of people in the queue?" Molly asks sympathetically. "You really should have gone during the interval, dear."

Arthur grins at me. "You'll always be eleven years old to her, you know," he says. "Well, shall we get out of the cold? You two are welcome to come back to the Burrow with us."

"Actually, I think I'd better get Ginny home," I say quickly.

Molly nods approvingly. "Get plenty of rest, dear," she says, kissing her daughter. "Dad and I are so pleased! I'll owl you tomorrow, and we can - "

I don't even hear the rest of the sentence. Lucius Malfoy, his wife on his arm, is sweeping toward the exit. Draco and Astoria are right behind them, with Grigor trailing sullenly in the rear. Draco is actually smiling for once as he bends his head to listen to something Astoria's saying.

Ginny's nudging me. "Isn't that O'Connor?" she whispers, pointing to a woman with her face painted a pale Tornadoes blue. "She's about the right height and build."

Molly and Arthur, thankfully, have departed. I take a firm grip on Ginny's hand and pull her to one side while we wait for O'Connor to reach us.

Ginny glances up at me. "See you later, then?" she asks.

"No, I'll take you home," I protest.

Ginny laughs and kisses me. "I know you would," she answers. "But there's no need. You go on and do your Auror things."

"You should have gone with your mum and dad," I say guiltily.

"Hermione's been on her own all day," Ginny reminds me. "It's lonely for her without Ron. We'll have a go at Rita Skeeter - that usually cheers her up."

She kisses me again and departs. I watch O'Connor, finally managing to make eye contact with her through sheer perseverance. I motion, almost imperceptibly, to the area behind the refreshment stands. O'Connor makes no sign that she's seen me, but I know she has.

She joins me a few minutes later.

"_Muffliato_," I say. "Nice disguise, Dara. I always thought you were a Kestrels supporter."

"Don't ever tell my dad you saw me like this," O'Connor says. "He'd never live it down." She smiles, but her eyes are intent. "Why'd you pull me off Malfoy?"

"I need to get hold of Jackson right away," I explain. "Would you mind?"

O'Connor pulls out her mirror at once and speaks into it. Jackson must have said something about her blue face paint, because she hisses, "Shut up, idiot! Harry wants to speak with you!"

She hands the mirror to me. "There you are, Harry," she says.

**Hermione**

Ginny arrives - alone - just after I've come in. "Harry have to go in?" I ask sympathetically. It happens a lot when you're married to an Auror.

"Not exactly," Ginny answers, dropping her cloak on the sofa and unwinding her scarf. "But he wanted to wait and speak to O'Connor - and - well, you know how it is."

Only too well. "How was the match?" I ask politely, even though we both know I don't particularly care.

"Brilliant," Ginny says. "The Puddlemere Seeker caught the Snitch when the score was tied."

Puddlemere's the one we like (I think), so I manage to dredge up a pleased smile.

"Poor Harry missed it," Ginny continues. "He was off somewhere - Mum thought he was in line for the loo, but I think he was talking to Ron. I can always tell when he slaps his hand over his pocket."

Now I'm paying attention. "Is Ron all right?" I ask anxiously.

"I'm sure he's fine," Ginny comforts me. "Harry didn't look upset - just excited." Her eyes go over me. "Why are you in your outdoor things?"

"Because I went in to the Ministry," I say.

Ginny rolls her eyes at me. "It's not even your proper job and you're working overtime," she says, amused.

"Basil was very eager for his research," I explain. "And I thought I might just as well take the opportunity to search Alicia's and Axel's desks."

Ginny's amusement turns to approval. "Now that's more like it," she says. "Find anything good?"

"Alicia's fond of chocolate and believes in horoscopes," I tell her. "And - well, what would you think if you found one of your co-worker's desks completely empty?"

"He's not planning to come back," Ginny answers at once, and I nod.

"That's what I think, too. So - did he get what he wanted, or was he removed from duty?"

Ginny shudders. "It sounds awfully ominous, the way you say it," she protests.

"I'm sure he's fine," I say, suddenly remembering her condition. "But I'm interested to hear what Harry thinks."

"Wish you'd brought the chocolate home," Ginny says. "I wouldn't mind something sweet."

"It was half-eaten," I tell her. "It had bite-marks in it."

"I could have broken that bit off," Ginny says, undeterred. "Do you think this is one of those odd cravings you're supposed to get with pregnancy?"

"Let's hope so," I say. "Ring for tea if you're hungry - I could do with a cup."

"Tea isn't the same," Ginny says, but she rings the bell. "Did you find anything else interesting?"

"I didn't find him, exactly, but I saw Draco Malfoy," I say. "I can't imagine what he was doing there."

"Neither can I, since we saw him at the match," Ginny says. "It must have been someone else."

"Don't you think I know what Malfoy looks like by now?" I say. "Of course it was - " I break off and stare at her. "He couldn't have been in two places at once," I say. "Not unless he left during the match or - "

"If he had, O'Connor would have gone with him," Ginny interrupts. "She was trailing him today."

Our eyes meet. "If the real Draco Malfoy was at the Quidditch match," I say slowly, "and Harry, who sometimes disguises himself as Malfoy, was also at the Quidditch match, then who did I see at the Ministry?"

**Ron**

"He had lunch with a few friends at the Black Pearl and then went back to his flat," Harry says. "No one's seen him since, but Jackson reports that Daphne Greengrass came by and rang the bell an hour ago. No one answered."

I grin at him. "Bet she wasn't best pleased," I say.

"Jackson said she was a bit put out," Harry answers, grinning back. Neither of us was a fan of Daphne's at Hogwarts.

Harry's face turns serious. "Jackson also reported that Draco Malfoy left the flat a short time after Daphne," he says. "Interesting, when you consider that O'Connor had the entire Malfoy family in her sights during the Puddlemere-Tornadoes match. She swears none of them left the box."

"Guess we're not the only ones using Polyjuice," I say. It's a reasonable enough assumption - Polyjuice isn't exactly an unknown potion - but you wouldn't expect everyone to want to be Draco Malfoy, would you?

"Assuming Gamp disguised himself as Malfoy, he's probably on his way to Durmstrang now," Harry says. "Keep a sharp eye out for him. You're quite sure about this Dorika?"

I shrug. "What choice have I got, mate?" I say. "But yeah, I'm sure about her."

"Just let me know when Gamp shows up there," Harry says. He hesitates. "Maybe I ought to come to Durmstrang myself."

"Why?" I say. "I've got this. Anyway, you ought to stay put. There's no telling what might be going to happen in England after Gamp gets through talking to this lot."

"It's not that I don't trust you to see it through," Harry says. "It's just - "

"That this is where all the fun is?" I suggest, and he grins reluctantly.

"It's not as much fun as you think," I tell him. "The corridors are so cold you can see your breath, and the food's unspeakable."

"Just be careful," Harry says.

I'm careful - I'm always careful. I put the mirror away and gather up a set of chess pieces. Dorika asked me during dinner - very loudly - if I thought she was too old to learn how to play chess. I answered - also very loudly - that she wasn't a bit too old and I'd be glad to teach her. I don't think anyone was paying much attention to us, but we've a proper alibi all the same.

"I should probably confess that I have known how to play chess for many years," Dorika says, as I set the board down on her desk several minutes later.

"I thought it was a bit odd you hadn't learned," I say lightly. "Will we have a game, or would you prefer to go for a walk?"

"A valk, I think," Dorika says, producing the bottle of Invisibility Potion. "I am not so good a player that I vish to take you on."

There's a sudden knock at the door. Dorika and I look at each other, startled.

Dorika whisks the bottle out of sight and calls out something that must mean "come in", because the door opens.

Bloody hell. What's Baranov want with us? Come to check up on us, I'll bet.

"Ah, the chess lessons!" he says, rubbing his hands together. "I am surprised, Dorika, that you have never learned the game."

"I have tried many times, but alvays I have given up," Dorika says. "But Professor Harris assures me that he vill be able to make a chess player of me yet."

"Anyone can learn," I tell her, wishing Baranov would take himself off. He's seen us, what more does he want?

But instead of leaving, he pulls up a chair. "I vould like very much to see this," he says, beaming at both of us.

Hermione's been trying to break me of swearing for years. She wouldn't approve of the words I'm calling Baranov in my head right now. "Of course," I say, forcing a smile.

There's nothing else for it but to set up the board. I take my time naming each piece and telling Dorika exactly what each one does. The pieces themselves are only too eager to join in the conversation, and I let them run on for as long as they like in the hopes of boring Baranov into a stupor. But he's leaning forward as though he's intensely interested.

_Gamp's probably here by now,_ I think, glancing at my watch under the table. _Baranov must have been sent to keep watch over us - they must suspect something - I'll have to Stun him, I reckon - as soon as he looks away, I'll -_

"I am thinking I vould understand this much better vith a little _schapps_," Dorika says, smiling at both of us. "Do you agree, Sergei?"

Baranov nods, looking relieved at the interruption. He must be a lot more bored than he's letting on.

Dorika's back is to us as she opens a cupboard, looking for glasses.

"Did you understand everything I was telling Dorika?" I ask Baranov politely. "Would you like me to go over anything again? Or I could ask one of the pawns to - "

"No, no," Baranov says hastily. "Ah, thank you, Dorika!"

Dorika hands me a glass. Her eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head, so slightly that I almost think I've imagined it. "To chess!" she says loudly, holding up her own drink.

"To chess!" Baranov echoes, and drains his glass.

I've barely raised my own in return when he slumps forward.

"So," Dorika says, pleased. "It vorks much qvicker vith alcohol, I am thinking."

I grin at her. "What'd you give him?"

"A sleeping draught," Dorika admits. She grins back. "Perhaps instead of a teacher I vill become an Auror, yes?"

"You'd make a brilliant one," I tell her. I look around the room for a place to hide Baranov, settling finally for stuffing him under the desk. I throw a _Petrificus Totalus_ on him for good measure, although he doesn't look as though he'll be waking up anytime soon.

"Right," I say to Dorika. "Shall we go?"

**Hermione**

Harry paces back and forth with the mirror in his hand. Every thirty seconds or so he glances at his watch.

Ginny's eyes meet mine. "Tell Harry who you saw at the Ministry today," she urges me.

Harry wheels around to look at me. "You went to the Ministry today?" he asks. "Alone? Hermione, that's not a very good id-"

"Draco Malfoy," I interrupt. "He didn't see me, though."

Harry doesn't look half as surprised as Ginny was to hear it. "Yeah, he really got around today," he says. "So Gamp wanted something from the Ministry before his trip to Durmstrang. I don't suppose you noticed if he was carrying anything?"

"That was Gamp?" I say, startled. "No, he didn't have anything in his hands."

"He didn't see you, did he?" Harry asks, and I shake my head.

"No one saw me but Basil," I assure him. "And you'll never guess what he wanted. He asked me to find out about Grigor."

Harry looks startled. "Why, I wonder?" he says. "If he's on their side, then - "

"He might not be," I remind him. "It's only you and Ron that think so." And Ron only thinks so because he can't stand Basil, but I don't say so. "Basil _is_ on the Wizengamut, remember," I say instead.

"He's still a prat, though," Ginny says cheerfully, and Harry grins reluctantly.

"That he is," he agrees. "Did you notice anything else while you were there?"

"She searched everyone's desks," Ginny informs him. "You and Ron are a bad influence."

"Brilliant," Harry says approvingly. "Well?"

Harry's reaction to Axel's empty desk is just what I'd expected. "We won't see him again," he says at once. "Damn it - I wish I knew what he'd been up to."

"It's funny you never saw him in any of those places you go when you're being Malfoy," Ginny says thoughtfully. "The Black Pearl, or the Parkinsons' cellar."

"Yeah, they've kept him well-hidden," Harry admits. "Unless he was in disguise, of course. Everyone else seems to be."

He starts pacing again and Ginny looks at me in despair.

"I very nearly thought Basil recognized me today," I say desperately. "He asked me if I'd got a granddaughter, and then he said something about the resemblance being extraordinary."

Harry stops short and looks at me again. "Did he recognize you?" he asks sharply.

"Harry! Of course not," I say indignantly. "Give me a little more credit than that. I told him that the late Mr. Dillweed and I had never been blessed with children, and then he suddenly remembered that the person he was talking about - me, I suppose - was a Muggle-born, and then he asked me to look into Grigor."

"Oh, there's a Mr. Dillweed?" Ginny asks.

"I've decided he's dead," I tell her. "It's easier that way."

Harry ignores us both. "I don't like this, Hermione," he says. "You know how much Sedgewick likes the sound of his own voice. He's likely to repeat that in front of anyone. I'm pulling you out."

"No," I protest. "It'll be fine. No one pays any attention to anything Basil says."

Harry starts to speak, but I don't let him. "Anyway, it'll look far more suspicious if I just disappear," I say quickly. "He's coming back to ask me about Grigor, remember? I'll just try a little harder with my disguise and he'll be sure he imagined the whole resemblance."

"I dunno," Harry says, looking half-convinced.

It's my turn to give Ginny the desperate look.

"It would help a great deal if you knew for sure which side Basil was on, wouldn't it?" she asks quickly. "Shame you can't get your hands on that scroll thingy of Gamp's, Harry - you'd likely find out all sorts of things."

"His name wouldn't necessarily be on there if he was just on the payroll," Harry tells her. "It's just Brotherhood members. I'll admit I'd like to get hold of it, though. Until we know who's behind this whole business, we're just grasping at straws."

"Couldn't you manage to get another look at it?" I ask.

"Not unless someone else joins up at our next meeting," Harry says ruefully. "They keep it locked up."

Ginny's smile makes her look remarkably like one of her brothers. "The thing to do," she says calmly, "is to steal it."

Harry and I both stare at her. "Well, why not?" Ginny asks. "From what you say, they hardly ever look at it. Likely they wouldn't even notice it was gone."

"Or you could leave a copy in its place," I put in eagerly. Really, it's a very clever idea.

"It's signed in blood," Harry says to me. "Even the best artist in the world couldn't - oh. You mean that charm."

"_Geminio,_" I say patiently. Honestly, you'd think he'd remember, after the time we had getting the locket - not to mention the whole business in the Lestrange vault.

"I've never quite mastered that one," Harry admits. "There's always something just the slightest bit off about my copies."

"Practice," Ginny and I say together.

Harry nods, frowning slightly. "I suppose I could manage it," he says. "Simon's nearly always there, but I might drop in - as Malfoy, of course - with a bottle. He likes his firewhisky, Simon."

"And then what, wait for him to drink enough to pass out?" Ginny asks dubiously. "Why not just slip something into his drink to be sure of it?"

"I'll have a look in my Potions book," I say. "There's bound to be something you can use. Meanwhile, haven't you got a bit of practicing to do?"

"_Geminio,_" Harry says, pointing his wand at a serving dish. "_Geminio!_"

An hour later, he's gotten much better at it. "That's really quite good," Ginny says encouragingly, examining two identical-looking quills.

"Maybe you ought to try it with parchment," I say. After all, that's what he's going to have to try to replicate.

"Have my knitting magazine," Ginny offers promptly. "You can tear a page out."

The page Harry produces is identical to the original. "I think you've got it," I tell him.

"Right," Harry says, pocketing his wand. "Is that potion ready?"

"You're going _now_?" Ginny asks, clearly not expecting it.

"We haven't any time left," Harry answers. "It's got to be tonight." He leans over her, whispering something, and I hastily turn away to decant my sleeping potion.

Ginny's eyes are anxious, but she manages a smile when I turn back to hand Harry the small flask. "Mind you're properly dressed," she says teasingly. "A Malfoy would never be seen in those old jeans."

"I've got a set of Malfoy's robes upstairs," Harry says. His eyes meet mine. "I'm going to leave you the mirror, Hermione," he says, much to my surprise. "If Ron calls, I might not be in a position to answer."

"What if Ron needs your help?" I protest. I know the list is important, but Gamp's on his way to Durmstrang.

"I've thought of that," Harry says. "If anything happens, send Kreacher to fetch me. Simon Parkinson isn't going to know one house-elf from another."

Ginny follows Harry upstairs, but I stay where I am, holding the mirror tightly in both hands.

**Ron**

They're in the staff room again, which makes things considerably easier. I fumble around for Dorika's (invisible) hand and put the other end of the Extendable Ears into it. There's not much point in me listening - I won't understand a damned word.

I lean close to the door just the same. I can just barely hear their voices. Kirilov says something; then Gamp's voice answers. Bloody hell, he sounds seriously annoyed.

I'm so intent on listening to what's happening in the room that I very nearly miss what's happening out here. I hear the footsteps coming just in time to reach for Dorika's arm and pull both of us out of the way.

Andor Miklos appears from around the corner a second later. He's breathing hard - he must have run all the way. He points his wand at the door and snaps out a short phrase in Bulgarian. It definitely wasn't _Alohomora_, so they must have a Password Charm on the door.

I don't even know I'm going to do it till I see the door open. But it's too good an opportunity to miss. I take a firm grip on Dorika's arm and edge her toward the opening. The two of us manage to slip inside just before the door closes.

Miklos is saying something - probably apologizing for being late, to judge by his expression. Gamp waves him to a seat impatiently.

The only other people in the room are Kirilov and Etilka. For some reason I'd expected a lot more, like there were the night they initiated Grigor and his friends. Where's everyone else gone, I wonder?

Etilka's talking now. It's funny, but she doesn't look at all like a woman now. She looks like Adrian Pucey wearing women's robes, and I wonder how I could have ever mistaken her for anything else. Him, I mean. It's hard to get used to saying it.

Now it's Gamp's turn. Bloody hell, I know _that_ word - Paienjen. Where do the vampires come in, I wonder? Whatever Gamp's saying has got the others all looking worried. Kirilov starts to say something, but Gamp cuts him off, sounding angry.

Dorika gasps. Very faintly, mind, and for a minute I don't think anyone heard her… but then Kirilov looks over his shoulder. He starts to open his mouth…

I point my wand at him quickly, and Kirilov's suddenly overtaken with a fit of coughing. Now the others are all looking at him. Etilka offers him a goblet of water, but it doesn't seem to help.

Miklos speaks up. Evidently he's offered to fetch something for Kirilov's cough, because he's hurrying from the room. Dorika and I hurry right after him.

"Come on," I say in her ear. "That charm won't last forever. We'll have to make ourselves scarce till Miklos goes back in."

"I am sorry," Dorika apologizes, once we've hidden ourselves in a nearby classroom. "It vas vhat he said about the children. I did not expect - even from Fyodor, who is no friend to the half-bloods - "

"You didn't expect what?" I ask, puzzled. I'm not surprised Kirilov said something about the kids, but they're safe at Hogwarts now and there's no reason for Dorika to get upset.

"You are not knowing?" Dorika asks. "I thought perhaps it vas vhy you vanted to get them avay."

"Knowing what?" I ask, more confused than ever.

"Are you perhaps knowing of Paienjen?" Dorika asks me.

I nod, forgetting she can't see me. "Yeah, I know who he is," I say. "I heard them say his name. What's he got to do with all this?"

When she tells me, I'm so angry that it's all I can do to keep from going back in there and punching out the lot of them.

"They vill all go to prison," Dorika reminds me. "Ve are vitness, yes?"

"Anya," I say furiously. "They were going to give Anya to the vampires!"

"I know, is very bad," Dorika says. "But Anya and the others are safe now, yes?"

She's right. "Miklos ought to be back with his cough syrup or whatever it is by now," I say, getting a grip on myself. "Will we chance it?"

We've just stepped outside the room when something wet hits me in the face. Suddenly I'm completely visible again. So's Dorika - and we're both rather damp. "What the hell?" I whisper.

Something moves in the shadows. I've got my wand out, but it's too late. Miklos has his own wand pressed to Dorika's throat. "Who are you, and vhat have you done vith Baranov?" he hisses. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Harry**

Simon answers my knock almost at once. "Back already?" he asks, sounding surprised. "I wasn't expecting you before tomorrow."

He must think I'm Gamp. "What?" I say, fixing a puzzled expression on my face.

"Nothing," Simon says hastily. "Er, what do you want, Malfoy? There's no meeting tonight."

"I know there's not," I say, holding up a bottle of Ogden's Best. "No reason we can't have a drink, though, is there?"

Simon's demeanor changes remarkably at the sight of it. "No reason at all!" he says heartily. "Come in - come in!"

He waves me expansively toward a chair and goes at once to a small cupboard for glasses. "No date tonight?" he asks over his shoulder. "Where's the lovely Miss Greengrass, then?"

"With her sister," I say, using Malfoy's sulkiest tone. "Jeremy was supposed to take Daphne to dinner, but he's gone off someplace so Daphne made Astoria go with her instead."

Simon receives this without any sign of surprise. "Our Jeremy doesn't like being tied down," he remarks, handing me a glass.

I wonder if I ought to say thank you, since he's just given me my own firewhisky. Malfoy wouldn't, so I don't. "Not the marrying kind, would you say?" I suggest, grinning at him.

Simon grins back. "Oh, I reckon he'll manage well enough when the time comes," he says. "Plenty of gold goes along with the Greengrass sisters - but then, you know that already, don't you?" His eyes are bright with malice.

I give him a superior look. "It doesn't matter to me," I say coldly. "We've more than enough of our own."

"Bit more never hurts," Simon advises me sagely. He holds up his glass. "To marrying well!"

I raise my own in return, willing him to put the glass down and turn away, just for a second.

"Now if I were you, I'd get a ring on her finger as soon as possible," Simon says, settling himself comfortably on the battered sofa. He's got a tight grip on his glass and it doesn't look as though he's planning on letting go of it any time soon.

"It's not that easy," I mumble, looking at my feet. "Her father…"

"Ah, yes," Simon says, reaching for the bottle and pouring himself another healthy measure. "The estimable Horatio. Not exactly a fan of yours, is he?"

Maybe it'd be faster to wait for him to pass out, after all. At the rate he's knocking them back, it shouldn't take long. Or maybe I should just Stun him and do a Memory Charm afterwards. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to - anyone could walk in.

Simon's looking at me expectantly, and I scramble to come up with a response.

"That's why I'm here," I say, struck by a sudden inspiration. "I thought maybe you could give me a bit of advice. You get on with him pretty well, don't you?"

I've seen "Eldon Gamp" and Horatio Greengrass together in the Black Pearl on a number of occasions, so this isn't just a shot in the dark. I give Simon a look of mingled entreaty and embarrassment.

Simon leans forward. "He's a difficult man to get to know," he says, dropping his voice confidentially. "Now, if I were you - "

But I'm not destined to hear Simon's advice this evening. His eyes roll up in his head and he slumps forward as the jet of light from my wand hits him.

I hurry into the adjoining room, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he's still out. _"Alohomora,"_ I say to the cabinet.

Nothing happens. Of course it doesn't. It wasn't locked on the night I signed Malfoy's name to the scroll, but it's definitely locked now. I might be able to break it open, but not without leaving traces. I groan to myself, realizing that once again, I've gone off without bothering to plan for every possible contingency. Gawain says it's my biggest failing as an Auror, and I'm beginning to think he may have a point. It doesn't help my mood to remember that Hermione asked me at least three times if I was sure I'd be able to get into the cabinet, and I assured her that I was. (Hermione and Gawain are frighteningly alike, sometimes.)

All the same, though, I'm pretty good at thinking on my feet. Right now I can only think of one thing to do. I retrace my steps.

_"Imperio,"_ I whisper, standing over Simon. "Go into the next room and open the cabinet."

Simon rises to his feet, eyes still closed, and promptly walks into a table.

"Open your eyes," I say, controlling my impatience.

This time Simon manages. He waves his wand at the cabinet and mutters a few words that sound foreign. It's some sort of password charm, then. "Now go back and sit on the sofa," I direct. I wait for him to go before I approach the open cabinet.

And there it is. I don't dare take the time to examine it now. _"Geminio,"_ I whisper. Please work, spell.

Whether it's the effect of practicing or if I just got lucky, I'll never know, but the two scrolls look identical to me. I stuff the original in my pocket and put the copy in its place, closing the cabinet door and… oh damn.

"Lock it," I say, returning to Simon's side.

I stand over him once it's done. _"Obliviate,"_ I say, deliberately not putting much power behind the spell. (Unlike _Geminio_, I'm actually quite good at this one.) Simon won't go so far as to forget his own name, but this evening will be a complete blank.

I Vanish the firewhisky and the two glasses, then slip soundlessly up the stairs.

**Ron**

Dorika's staring at me, horrified. My Polyjuice disguise seems to have disappeared along with our invisibility.

"Who are you?" Miklos repeats, glaring at me. "How are you coming into our castle?" He turns the look on Dorika. "You are letting him in, yes?"

Evidently it hasn't occurred to him that I'm Harris, and I'm in no hurry to explain things. "Never mind how I got here," I say.

Miklos digs the tip of his wand into Dorika's throat. "You are forgetting who is in charge here," he tells me sternly. "I vill have your vand, now."

He's already grabbed Dorika's. That's not good, but maybe there's a way around this.

"Now, or I vill kill her," Miklos says.

Maybe there's not, then. He sort of looks like he means it. I hand my wand over reluctantly. If I play this carefully, I might be able to take him off guard.

"You vill take me to Baranov," Miklos orders.

I nod resignedly at Dorika. "Do as he says," I tell her. I let my shoulders slump a bit, as though I'm feeling defeated. Miklos nods, looking satisfied.

"So," he says, to no one in particular.

"He is vaiting for us in my office," Dorika says grudgingly.

It's sort of an odd way to say that he's passed out and Petrified under her desk, but I reckon you might classify that as _waiting_.

"You vill please remove your vand from my throat, Andor," Dorika says. I can tell she's afraid, but she's too stubborn to show it. "There is no reason for you to fear us now."

"I have no fear of anyvun, me," Miklos says arrogantly, but he pulls his wand back, keeping it trained on both of us. "You vill lead the vay," he orders. "If you try anything, it vill be the last thing you ever do."

Bit melodramatic, isn't he? "Fair enough," I say. "Come on, Dorika."

I can feel Miklos's eyes burning into my back as we hurry down the stairs to Dorika's office, but I resist the urge to turn around. I can't help wondering what would happen if we met anyone coming the other way, but the corridors are deserted.

Dorika unlocks her office door and nods at the desk. "Under there," she says briefly. She folds her arms, waiting.

An odd expression crosses Miklos's face. _"Under?"_ he repeats, sounding almost disbelieving. His suspicious eyes meet mine. "You vill fetch him," he tells me.

He must think we're trying to trick him. "Right," I say. I crouch down, attempting to keep one eye on Miklos as I do, and haul Baranov out by the neck of his ermine-trimmed robes. He's still out cold - and he's still Petrified, which doesn't exactly make it easy. "You might do a Hover Charm on the desk," I suggest to Miklos. "He seems to be caught on the legs."

Miklos, still looking suspicious, obliges me by lifting the desk a few inches off the floor. It's enough for me to yank Baranov the rest of the way out.

"He's Petrified," I say, a little unnecessarily. "And he's also had a Sleeping Draught."

Miklos's eyes widen. "Can it be I am mistaken?" he asks. "How it is that he is Petrified?"

Miklos's English isn't anywhere near as good as Dorika's, but you'd think he'd be able to see for himself, wouldn't you? "Because I jinxed him," I explain, speaking slowly and carefully.

"You!" Miklos says, sounding astonished.

Not very bright, is he? Who the hell did he think did it? I start to ask, but Miklos has his wand pointing at Baranov. It's my turn to be astonished as silver ropes suddenly appear, binding Baranov's Petrified arms to his sides.

I look over at Dorika. I hope my mouth isn't hanging open like hers.

"Andor?" Dorika says tentatively. "You are - you are _pleased_?"

Miklos turns a beaming face on both of us. "Who are you?" he asks me again, but he's not threatening me anymore. "You are not vun of ours, but I think perhaps I have seen you before."

Here we go again. There's no point in hiding my identity - he'll remember where he saw me soon enough. "Ron Weasley," I say wearily. "Auror."

"The Veasley of Harry Potter?" Miklos says, his eyes widening.

I nod. I'm not sure who Miklos is - yet - but he's clearly no friend of Baranov's, and that's good enough for me. "Do you think I might have my wand back now?" I ask.

Miklos hands it over immediately. "You must accept my apologies," he says. "Had I known… but who vould think that Veasley vould be in our castle?"

"What about Dorika's wand, too," I suggest. May as well get him while he's on a roll.

Miklos tosses Dorika's wand in her direction without taking his eyes off me. I'm beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. "I am Andor Miklos," he says simply.

"Yeah, I know," I say. _I've been here since September - I think I've managed to learn your name by now._

"Andor Miklos of Magical Law Enforcement," Miklos clarifies. "Of Bulgarian Ministry. Not Professor of Astronomy, although alvays I have been fascinated by the stars. I have been here - how do you say - "

"Undercover," I supply. Bloody hell, he's in Magical Law Enforcement? I can't believe I never caught on. But neither did Hermione, so I can't have been that stupid.

Miklos is nodding. "For a long time I have vatched and vaited," he tells us. "Now is time."

"You've been after the Brotherhood of Blood all this time," I say in disbelief. "And I thought - "

I break off, because Miklos is shaking his head.

"The Brotherhood, no," he says. "Ve vatch them alvays, yes, but they are not the vuns. Not this time."

I stare at him. "They aren't?" I repeat, not very intelligently.

"But you are already knowing this, yes?" Miklos says. "Vhy else vould you, an English Auror, be here? You are looking for him. The Englishman."

The Engl - oh. He must mean Gamp. "Yeah," I say. "Which reminds me - we've probably missed the rest of the meeting."

"Is no matter," Miklos says. "I can tell you vhat vas said in the beginning. After that is just more of the same. Alvays there is much argument."

"Already ve are hearing about the children," Dorika says. "For shame, Andor, that the Ministry vould allow this!"

"The Ministry did not," Miklos protests, looking uncomfortable. "Vas a plan, only. Surely you are not thinking, Dorika, that I vould allow innocent children to be sent to such a monster as Paienjen!"

Dorika folds her arms and glares at him. "I am hoping not," she says sternly.

"The kids are safe now," I say.

Miklos throws me a grateful look. "You vere asking vhat else," he says, clearly ready to change the subject. "This much I can tell you. Kirilov is telling Jeremy Gamp is dangerous to vait any longer. He is saying Professor Harris may be spy, although myself I believe that his sympathies lie vith the Brotherhood."

I manage to catch Dorika's eye and give her a warning look. I'm not sure why I don't want to tell Miklos that I'm Harris, but for some reason I just don't.

"Vhere is Harris, do you know?" Miklos asks, looking around. "He vas supposed to play chess vith you, Dorika, vas he not? Vas vhy Baranov came to see you."

"I am making an excuse and sending him avay before Sergei arrived," Dorika answers. "I am not vanting him to see Mr. Veasley."

She's not the greatest liar, but Miklos doesn't seem to notice. "Did Gamp agree, in the end?" I ask quickly.

"They vill make their move in two days," Dorika says, and Miklos nods.

"They vill make it vithout Sergei Baranov," he says cheerfully. "Also vithout Fyodor Kirilov and Etilka Varga. I have finally enough to charge them vith conspiracy. I arrest them tonight."

"You can't," I protest. "That ruins any chance we have of catching the people at the top."

"I regret," Miklos says, clearly not regretting it at all. "But they are Bulgarian vizards and I arrest them in the name of Bulgarian Ministry. The English vill have to capture their own."

"Etilka Varga's not Bulgarian," I say, spotting a loophole. "She's not even a woman. He's a wizard called Adrian Pucey, and he's been wanted by the English Ministry for the past five years."

"Is better she is a man," Miklos says, apparently not too surprised by the news. "For a voman she is very ill-favored, is she not? Very vell, Mr. Veasley, I give you Etilka. The other two are mine."

I start to argue, then let it go. Maybe it'll work out this way. "Fair enough," I tell him. "But will you agree to a plan? Let's do it this way."

**Hermione**

Neither Ginny nor I have much appetite for dinner, but we do our best. "Kreacher fusses if I don't eat," Ginny whispers, one eye on the open door. Afterwards we try to make conversation, but we're both too tense. It's a relief when we hear the front door open at last.

Harry still has streaks of blonde in his hair, but he's put his glasses back on. "Got it," he says triumphantly, pulling a rolled-up scroll from his pocket. "Let's have a look."

"But what happened?" I ask. "Was Simon there? Did the cabinet give you any trouble?"

"I've got it, that's all that matters," Harry says, a little evasively. I'll bet anything you like that the cabinet was locked, but he'll never admit it.

Harry spreads the scroll out on a table. "Here's Jeremy Gamp's name," he says at once. "And here's - I've no idea how to pronounce it; must be Bulgarian. Here's another foreign one… I can't find any names I recognize on here except Gamp and Draco Malfoy, and _I_ wrote that one."

"That's no way to do it," I tell him firmly. "Read the names off to me one by one, and I'll write down any that sound English."

It doesn't take us long. The list I hand him is shorter than we'd expected, but we know most of the people on it.

"Adrian Pucey," Harry says triumphantly. "_And_ Simon Parkinson."

Ginny leans over his shoulder to see. "Who's Caradoc Dearborn?" she asks.

Harry and I look at each other. "No idea," Harry admits. "Hermione?"

I shake my head.

"Caradoc Dearborn," Harry repeats. He frowns. "Funny - it almost seems as though I ought to know that one."

"He's not a Death Eater," I say definitely. "And he's not related to any of them either. I don't ever recall the name coming up." I ought to know - I've had to research most of the trials for the Department of Magical Law.

"It sounds familiar to me, too," Ginny says thoughtfully. "Only I can't think why. Maybe Dad would know."

"Kreacher's master is home," Kreacher says from the doorway. "Kreacher wonders if his master is hungry. Such a good dinner Master missed! Even though Kreacher's mistress hardly touched it. Didn't eat enough to keep a Bowtruckle alive, so Mistress didn't." He stares reprovingly in Ginny's direction.

Ginny gives me an eloquent look. "You might just as well eat something, Harry," I say quickly. "Maybe it'll come to you if you think about something else for awhile."

Harry doesn't look as though he agrees with me, but he follows Kreacher meekly into the dining room.

"I'll go and keep him company," Ginny says to me. "Want to join us?"

I shake my head absently, reaching for the scroll. Caradoc Dearborn… the name means nothing to me, and yet…

"Harry?" Ron's voice says.

I start; then remember the mirror. "No, it's me," I say, pulling it out. "Is everything all right?"

"Hi, sweetheart," Ron says, looking pleased to see me. "Yeah, I'm fine. Tell Harry that Andor Miklos is a Magical Law Enforcement Wizard - for Bulgaria, obviously, not us - and he's insisting on arresting both Kirilov and Baranov. I think I've got him talked into leaving Etilka - Pucey, I mean - but I don't know as I quite trust him. And Gamp's been and gone already. Whatever they've got planned has been pushed up a bit - it's due to come off in two days."

"What is?" I ask, trying to make sense of everything he's just said.

Ron shrugs. "Even Miklos didn't know exactly," he says. "All he could find out is that they plan to take over the Ministry. He says Gamp doesn't much trust the others, and he only lets them in on a bit at a time."

"Does he think Gamp's the one in charge, then?" I ask. We hadn't thought so - we thought he was only the liaison…

"I guess so," Ron says doubtfully. "He keeps calling him 'the Englishman', even though more than likely Jeremy was one of his Astronomy students a few years ago." He brightens. "Hermione, wait'll I tell you how Dorika took out Baranov. She was brilliant!"

"I'm glad you're not all on your own there," I say. "Are you quite sure that Miklos is telling you the truth?" Miklos certainly never seemed in the least like an undercover Magical Law Enforcement agent to me, but I suppose that's the idea.

"I'm not sure about anything," Ron says frankly. "But he could've killed Dorika and me, and he didn't, so there's that."

That doesn't exactly make me feel better. "Be careful," I say, unable to stop myself.

"I'm always careful," Ron says, but he isn't really. All the Weasleys have a reckless streak.

"Where is Harry, anyway?" Ron's asking.

"Kreacher's making him eat," I explain. "And before that, he was - " I break off in mid-sentence. "Ron, who's Caradoc Dearborn?" I ask abruptly.

"Substitute Chaser for the Appleby Arrows two or three seasons ago," Ron answers promptly.

Why does he always think everyone's a Quidditch player? Anyway, Ginny would have known that. "He was _not_," I say.

"Well, dunno, then," Ron says. "Why?"

I explain about the scroll.

"There weren't any Death Eaters called Dearborn," Ron says. "Least, I don't think there were. The name sounds familiar, though… Caradoc Dearborn…" He frowns. "Ask Dad," he says.

"That's what Ginny said," I tell him. "If both of you are subconsciously associating it with your father, it may mean that you've heard him speak of Dearborn before and you're just not remembering."

"Or it may just mean that Dad's old and he knows lots more people than we do," Ron says, grinning at me. "If you ask him, don't let on that I called him old, though!"

Arthur's hardly old - more middle-aged - but I let it go.

"What other names are on the scroll?" Ron asks.

I fetch it and read them off, stumbling a bit over the foreign names.

"Dearborn's the only one I don't recognize," Ron says. "Well, the only English one, anyway. I didn't know most of those others."

"I probably didn't pronounce them properly," I admit. "Even after all those weeks at Durmstrang, I still haven't - oh my goodness!"

"What?" Ron asks quickly.

"Andor Miklos is on here," I tell him.

"Course he is," Ron says patiently. "He was undercover, wasn't he?"

"But don't you remember what Gamp told Harry?" I say. "Anyone who signs and then betrays the Brotherhood will die."

"Likely he just made that up to scare him," Ron says, but he looks uncomfortable. "Or maybe Miklos isn't Miklos's real name. After all, Harry signed Malfoy's name and nothing's happened to him."

"Still, you'd better not trust him too far," I urge.

"I'm not trusting anybody," Ron assures me. "I'm just doing the best I can with what I've got, that's all." He smiles at me, although it looks a bit forced. "I miss you," he says.

"I miss you, too," I say. _Please be careful…_

Ron looks over his shoulder in the mirror. "I've got to go," he says abruptly. "Tell Harry not to contact me - I'll check in when it's safe. Love you."

"I love you, too," I say, but he's already gone.

I start into the dining room to tell Harry. I hope he's not upset that I didn't call him straightaway.

Before I can reach the door, it bursts open. "Hermione, we've found him!" Harry says excitedly. His hair is all on end, and he runs a hand through it absently, making it worse than ever. "That is, Sirius did!"

I look at him blankly, still half caught up in my conversation with Ron. "Who?" I say.

"Caradoc Dearborn, of course," Harry answers. "Who else?"

**Harry**

Sirius has already been through the whole story once, but he repeats it for Hermione's benefit.

"Caradoc Dearborn was one of ours," he explains. "The first time around - you know, the original Order of the Phoenix. I've shown you his picture, Harry."

That's why it sounded familiar. And Ginny must have heard her parents mention him once or twice. "Tell Hermione what happened to him," I say.

"No one knows," Sirius answers. "He disappeared without a trace years ago. We assumed he was dead - in fact, he must be, else he would've surfaced when Voldemort fell."

"Er, not necessarily," I say. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much," Sirius admits. "He was a bit of a loner, as I recall." He nudges my dad. "Wake up, Prongs! Your son wants to know about Caradoc Dearborn."

"Disappeared," my dad answers, yawning. "Dead, most likely."

"What sort of man was he?" I persist.

Dad blinks at me behind his glasses. "I didn't know him very well," he says slowly. "None of us did. I don't think he'd got a family - at least, I don't remember him talking about them. Maybe they came forward when everyone was looking for him, but if they did, I never heard about it."

"Can you tell us about that?" Hermione breaks in. "When he disappeared?"

"We were in hiding already," Mum says, opening her eyes. "Remus wrote us about it, didn't you, Remus? Or perhaps it was Peter."

"It must have been Peter," Remus answers. "I heard about it afterwards, but at the time I was a bit… indisposed."

The source doesn't exactly put my mind at ease. "Who told you, Sirius?" I ask. "Was it Wormtail?"

Sirius nods. "Dearborn never showed up for a mission," he says. "Wormtail went round to his flat to check and said it looked as though there'd been a struggle. Of course we never thought to check up on Wormtail - we thought he was one of ours." He smiles bitterly. "He probably killed Dearborn himself."

"Not necessarily," I say again. "Didn't anyone go looking for him?"

"We tried, of course, but we hadn't anything to go on," Sirius says. "I know it sounds terrible, but so many people were just vanishing without a trace in those days. It took everything we had just to try and keep up with what the Death Eaters were doing, that…" His voice trails off. "I always did feel rather guilty about old Dearborn," he adds after a minute.

"Well, you needn't," Hermione says crisply. "He seems to be quite well, seeing as he's recently joined the Brotherhood of Blood." She turns to me. "Harry, I've heard from Ron. Andor Miklos is a Magical Law Enforcement Wizard for Bulgaria, and he's arresting Kirilov and Baranov."

"He can't!" I protest, instantly distracted. _She might have told me a bit sooner,_ I think - rather unfairly, since I didn't really give her a chance.

"Ron says he tried to talk him out of it, but Miklos insisted," Hermione explains. "He's leaving Etilka for Ron, though. Ron's got some sort of plan about following her, I think, although he didn't tell me very much."

"Where's that mirror?" I demand, but Hermione shakes her head.

"He said not to contact him - it isn't safe," she says. "He'll be in touch as soon as he can." She turns back to the four stunned-looking faces in the portrait. "Try to remember anything you can about Dearborn," she says urgently. "Where he came from, what he liked to do in his spare time - anything. It may be very important."

**Ron**

It took me long enough to get Miklos talked round to my point of view, but he gives in at last.

"I vill speak very loudly vhen I am arresting Kirilov so that Etilka can be varned and make her escape," he promises. "You vill follow her?"

"Him, you mean," I say, grinning at him. "You have my word. She - he - isn't getting away from me even if I have to Disapparate right along with her. Him."

"Is not so easy to remember," Miklos says, grinning back. "How she could have fooled me for so long - _me_, Andor Miklos!"

"Vas a good disguise," Dorika says kindly, even though Hermione spotted it right off. "Mr. Veasley, vhat is it that you vill need me to do?"

"Ron, please," I say. At least she didn't forget and call me Professor. "I don't really need you to do anything, except give me the rest of that Invisibility Potion. Someone's going to have to stay here and see to things at the school, what with Baranov being out of the way." I nudge the ermine-wrapped bundle with one foot.

"_I_ vill run the school," Dorika says, her eyes lighting up. "I vill run it the vay it should be run. And vhen all of this business of arresting is out of the vay, I vill vrite to Minerva McGonagall and she vill send back our students. No vun vill bully them anymore. And Grigor Androchev and his friends vill be _expelled_ if they tries to hurt them."

"Good for you," I say.

Dorika gives me a satisfied nod. "Here is potion," she says, offering me the flask. "You vill return to Durmstrang, do you think?"

"I don't really know what's going to happen," I admit. "Do me a favor, though, Dorika, and make sure none of their rooms are touched. The Aurors may want to go through them for evidence."

"I vill seal them in the name of Bulgarian Ministry," Miklos says, but neither one of us is paying any attention to him.

"I vill see to it," Dorika assures me. "Be very careful, Ron. I know you are used to danger, but these people are ruthless."

Like Voldemort wasn't? But she means well, so I thank her and shake the hand she offers. "Whenever you're ready, Miklos," I say.

"Ve do it now," Miklos decides. "I bid you now farevell, Mr. Veasley. It vill not be safe to speak again."

I take a big swallow of my Polyjuice Potion - hopefully for the last time - and wait for it to take effect before following. I duck into an alcove near Kirilov's room and wait.

It doesn't take long - Miklos must have taken Kirilov by surprise, because there's hardly a sound except for what I guess must be Kirilov crashing to the floor.

I venture out a few steps and risk a quick look around the corner, just in time to see Miklos using the same Rope Charm he used on Baranov to bind Kirilov's arms to his sides. I back away before he can turn around and spot the suspicious Professor Harris lurking in the corridor.

Looks like Miklos has got this sorted. Now for Etilka. I give Miklos a good ten minutes to get clear of the castle with his prisoners before knocking on her door.

Etilka's expression turns surly when she sees who it is. "I am not in the mood for company this evening, Harris," she snaps.

Like I'd ever be that desperate. "I'm not here for a visit," I say. "I'm afraid something's happened to Professor Kirilov. Miklos - "

Etilka grabs my arm. She's got an awfully strong grip for a woman - only she isn't one, of course. I know she's Adrian, but I thought of her as Etilka Varga for so long that I keep forgetting. "Vhat about Miklos?" she snaps.

"He seems to have arrested him or something," I say apologetically. "I expect it's some sort of mistake - or perhaps you lot planned it to look this way - but I thought you ought to know."

Etilka's hand tightens on my arm. "So, _Miklos_," she says grimly. "You vill come vith me at vunce to report this to the headmaster."

"I'd thought of that already," I say eagerly. "Only he isn't there." I allow an anxious look to creep over my face. "There were lots of things knocked over in his office," I lie. "Almost as though there'd been some sort of a struggle. You don't suppose something's happened to him as well?"

What Etilka supposes isn't anything she's about to share with Harris. She lets her hand drop from my arm - just in time; it was beginning to get numb - and turns away abruptly. "I must think," she says, almost to herself.

"What're we going to do, Etilka?" I ask humbly. "I expect you're in charge now, aren't you?"

"Ve?" Etilka says, looking grimly amused. "Ve vill do nothing, Harris. I - _only_ I - vill act. You vill go back to your rooms and say nothing about this to anyvun."

"Now, see here," I say indignantly. "That's definitely not on. You lot dragged me into this, asking for my help. And I helped you, and now see what's happened! I'm not about to hide in my rooms and wait to be arrested by the Astronomy professor so he can throw me into some foreign prison where no one'll ever hear of me again, most likely." I fold my arms and glare at her.

"You are in no danger," Etilka says impatiently. "You have only to say nothing. Surely even you, Harris, can manage that much."

I allow myself to look half-convinced. "You're quite sure no one suspects me of anything?" I ask. "How much did you tell Miklos about me?"

"Ve tell him nothing," Etilka says, clearly lying. "Alvays ve do not quite trust him, do you see?"

"Alvays" since about two minutes ago, but I don't say so. "I'm still owed this month's pay," I say instead. "Maybe I ought to wait. You do think we'll be paid at the end of the month, don't you, even if the headmaster's been arrested?"

Etilka gives me a disgusted look. "Leave me," she says. "I must think."

"You wouldn't go anywhere without telling me, would you?" I ask, half-turning to go.

"Of course not," Etilka lies. "Go."

I go - but not very far. Etilka doesn't take long to gather her things together, but luckily the Invisibility Potion works quickly. I'm right behind her as she tiptoes down the corridor, glancing warily over her shoulder from time to time.

There's no sign of Miklos (or anyone else) as she flicks her wand at the heavy front door. A cold wind rushes in, nearly extinguishing the torches on the wall.

Etilka takes one last look around before stepping quickly outside. I follow, almost close enough to touch her. But I don't reach out to grab the end of the scarf that's looped loosely around her neck until she turns on the spot to Disapparate.

**Harry**

I leave the others talking about Caradoc Dearborn and wander into the next room, clutching the mirror. From time to time I look at it hopefully, but the glass only reflects my own face. I can't help wishing that Hermione had called me immediately when Ron contacted her the last time. I know they miss each other, and I know she knows nearly as much about all this as we do - but it's not the same as talking to him myself.

I pick up the scroll again and look it over. There's Draco Malfoy's name - signed in my blood. I don't see Lucius on here, though - too cagey, I expect. He'll throw them his support when they've taken over the Minister's office and not before. Which they aren't going to do, I remind myself firmly. Two days, though… Ron said two days…

I stare out the window at the black sky, trying to think like Jeremy Gamp. It's not likely he's still at Durmstrang - he would have had to bring the news back to his followers here. Which means he's either in the Black Pearl or he's in the Parkinsons' cellar.

Black Pearl first, I decide. I'd rather not risk the cellar unless I have to - the sight of Malfoy turning up unannounced might trigger something in Simon's memory. I find the little bottle where I've been keeping my stock of Malfoy hairs and look at it dubiously. Only two left - that's two hours, and I might need them later. I mix up a dose of Polyjuice just in case, but I stuff the flask into a pocket. It's time to get Dad's old cloak out again.

Horatio Greengrass does me the favor of arriving at the Black Pearl at almost the same moment that I do. By keeping just far enough behind him, I'm able to enter when he does.

And there's Jeremy - not at the bar, like he usually is, but at a small table in the corner surrounded by a small group of his followers. They all have their heads together, speaking in low tones - and nearly all of them look worried.

Horatio and I wander over to their table, just in time to hear Jeremy say something rather angrily in Bulgarian. Whatever he said didn't please the lot at the table.

"Ah, there's my prospective son-in-law!" Horatio says. "Care to join me for a drink?"

The look Gamp gives him would freeze boiling water, but Horatio doesn't appear to notice. "I needed an excuse to get out of the house for a bit," he's confiding. "Ardith and her wedding plans - I'm sure she didn't take on half so much when we got married!" He pulls up a chair, cheerfully oblivious to the furious looks he's getting from the rest of the Brotherhood.

Jeremy glances around the table and says something in what I suppose is Bulgarian. There's some grumbling, but most of the men look too tense to really bother complaining as Jeremy gets to his feet and escorts Horatio to the bar.

"Most of my friends don't speak English very well," he's explaining as they pass me. "It might be better if you and I had a drink on our own. What's Ardith fussing about this time? The last time I saw her it was - "

I don't get to hear what, because I don't bother following them. Gamp won't talk about anything in front of Horatio. As long as I can keep him in sight, there's no need to stay right by his side. Instead, I edge closer to the table holding the Brotherhood group. This lot is definitely talking about something, but obviously I can't understand a single word.

This is pointless. I make my way across the room, careful not to bump into anyone. Hathaway's working the door tonight - I might just as well have a quick word and see who else has been in.

Hathaway looks bored out of his mind as he flips mindlessly through the _Daily Prophet_. I do a _Muffliato_ Charm before approaching him and tapping him on the shoulder. He's too well-trained to jump, but he does look a bit startled.

"It's me," I say quickly. "It's safe to speak."

Hathaway grins in my general direction. "Who caught the bride's bouquet at your wedding?"

Like I said, well-trained. "Luna Lovegood," I answer. "Although I might point out that any number of people could have known that."

"Yeah, but do all of them know that she believes it's good luck to eat one of the flowers?" Hathaway says. "Because I was standing nearby when she caught it, and that's exactly what she did."

I wonder briefly what sort of flower it was and how it tasted before turning my attention to the matter at hand. "I'm following Gamp," I say.

"Thought you might be," Hathaway answers. "He came in about half an hour ago with that lot of foreigners he's always got trailing him."

"I wish I spoke Bulgarian," I say. "I wish any of us did."

"You might try Viktor Krum, if it's a Bulgarian speaker you want," Hathaway says, waving his _Prophet_ at me. "Rita Skeeter says he's in town to check out the talent on the local Quidditch teams. She's wrong, of course - since when do the Bulgarian Nationals want English players? - but there's a picture of him coming out of Quality Quidditch Supplies, so he's definitely here all right."

"Let me see that," I say, grabbing the paper. Krum in town - and he didn't try to get in touch? _Or maybe he did,_ I realize. With Persimmon still away, I haven't exactly been what you'd call well-organized.

"I wonder where he's staying," I say, more to myself than to Hathaway.

"That I couldn't tell you, but he's having dinner at the Cauldron," Hathaway answers. "One of the girls in the kitchen here saw him going in - the whole lot of them are mad about him, anyway - and - where are you going, Harry?"

He still can't see me, of course, but he saw the door opening. "To get Krum, of course," I answer. "I'll knock three times when I come back so you can let me in."

I stuff the Cloak in my pocket once I'm well away from the Black Pearl. There's no need to be invisible in the Leaky Cauldron.

Krum's sitting at the bar, staring rather morosely into a glass, but he offers me a welcoming smile. "I am hoping to see you, Harry," he says. "I am going to the Ministry, but the lady is not there, and also no vun else is there either."

"Sorry about that," I say, making a mental note to get someone in to cover Persimmon's desk. "I know this is rather short notice, but would you be willing to help me out with something tonight?"

Krum's already nodding eagerly. "I am here alone and already I begin to bore myself," he confides. "I am here on behalf of the Bulgarian National team. They are vanting to buy out contract of vun of our Bulgarian players who has been playing for vun of your teams - you understand I cannot say who?"

He waits until I nod before continuing. "Is very boring, all arguing and alvays money," he says frankly. "I am not alvays understanding it. But now, ve have an adventure, yes?" He beams at me.

After that, I'm afraid that what I want him to do is going to seem too tame. But Krum's eyes light up. "I vill be like Auror," he says happily.

"You're sure you can manage?" I ask anxiously.

"Is easy, vhat you vant me to do," Krum says. "I vill vear the Cloak of Invisibility and stand next to a table of men from my country and listen to them. Then I come to you and tell vhat vas said. Is not hard to do."

When you put it that way, no. "Let's go, then," I say. I look guiltily at his half-empty glass. "Er, I'll buy you another of those afterwards if you like."

"Is nothing," Krum declares grandly, tossing a few coins on the bar surface. "Come, Harry. Ve go."

Despite my misgivings, everything goes exactly as planned. I don't dare wait in the entry with Hathaway, but I take cover in a nearby alley. After what feels like several hours, I hear footsteps approaching.

"Is safe to take off Cloak here?" Krum whispers.

I glance around. "Go on, then," I say.

Krum hands me the Cloak and smiles proudly at me. "As I thought, it vas not at all difficult," he brags. "They are as I suspected - members of the Brotherhood of Blood."

I haven't the heart to tell him we already knew that. "Yes, excellent," I say. "Can you tell me what they talked about?"

"They are complaining about vhat it is they are having to do in only two days," Krum answers. "Then Jeremy Gamp comes, and there is no more complaining vhile he is there. Instead he tells them there vill be meeting tomorrow night and all vill receive their final instructions then. Meeting is in 'usual place' - he does not name it, but I am thinking perhaps you are knowing vhere?" He gives me an inquiring look.

"Yeah," I say. "Anything else?"

"Men leave, and they are again complaining now that Gamp is not near them," Krum says. "Then Gamp is leaving himself and vith him is a man I do not recognize. And Gamp is asking him something about 'the old man', and the other vun is saying not to vorry anymore. And he say-" Krum pauses here; then gathers himself together with a visible shudder. "He say, 'old man think he can get the better of Paienjen, but Paienjen is more than match for any Auror that ever live." He gives me an anxious look. "You are knowing of Paienjen, Harry?"

"Yeah," I say again, but my mind is racing. "Did they say anything more?"

Krum shakes his head. "They Disapparate," he says.

"Thanks for everything, Viktor," I say, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to - er - go in to work after all, but maybe you'd like to come to dinner tomorrow night." _And then Hermione can hide upstairs all evening. Oops, sorry about that, Hermione. I wasn't thinking clearly._

"I regret very much," Krum says. "But I must return to Bulgaria as soon as my business concludes tomorrow."

"Well, maybe next time," I say, trying not to sound relieved.

I wait till he's gone before pulling out the mirror. I know Ron said not to contact him, but this is important. Only what if he's being invisible or something? I'm still hesitating when his voice comes from the glass.

"Hey, beautiful," he says.

Despite my anxiety, I can't suppress a smirk. "It's me, not Hermione," I say into the mirror. I can't see him in the glass - he must have taken more of that Invisibility Potion - but I'd bet anything his ears just turned red.

"Oh, right," Ron says, sounding embarrassed. "Harry, I'm in England - I think. I grabbed Etilka's scarf and Apparated here with her - don't worry, she didn't know - and now I'm outside of someone's house. Etilka went in a side door - I couldn't see who opened it for her - and she hasn't come out."

"Describe the house," I say, but I already know where he is.

"Do you want me to wait here?" Ron's asking.

I consider. "Yeah, wait there for me," I say. "There's a big oak tree not far from the cellar entrance. I'll meet you there. Oh, and I'll have the Cloak on."

"Great, we can be invisible together," Ron says cheerfully. "Mind you don't step on my feet."

I hesitate again, not entirely sure if I want to deliver this news through the mirror. But we might not get a chance to talk at the Parkinsons'.

"Ron?" I say. "I think I know where Gawain is." 

**Hermione**

"Where'd you get those robes?" Ron asks, surveying me with half-closed eyes. "They look like something my Auntie Muriel would wear."

"That's the idea," I say patiently. I lift my wand to my face.

Ron sits up in bed. "Why are you putting on your Swanhilda kit?" he demands suspiciously. "Hermione, you are _not_ going to the Ministry today."

I raise my eyebrows at him in the mirror. "Excuse me?"

"Harry doesn't think it's a good idea," Ron says, backtracking hastily. "He thinks Sedgewick spotted you."

"He didn't," I say, returning my attention to the mirror. "And anyway, don't you think it would look much more suspicious if Swanhilda suddenly disappeared?"

"Okay, then _I_ don't think it's a good idea," Ron says. There's a stubborn look on his face that I know only too well. "There could be trouble at the Ministry today - we don't know what's going to happen."

"Right," I say. "And I've never been in a dangerous situation before, so naturally you don't think I'd be able to handle it."

"I know you can handle it," Ron says. "I just don't think I could."

"Nothing's supposed to happen till tomorrow, is it?" I argue. "They haven't even had that meeting yet. And I know I could find out all sorts of things about Caradoc Dearborn in Magical Records." Of course, there's no reason they can't send one of the Aurors to Magical Records to do the same thing, but I'm counting on Ron not to think of it fast enough.

"I still don't like it," Ron says. "Anyway, I wanted you to stay home with me today. I missed you."

Nice try. "Oh, are you staying home?" I ask innocently. "I thought I heard you and Harry making plans to stake out the Parkinsons' cellar."

"Not till later," Ron says. He offers me his most winning smile and pats the bed next to him. "Go on, Hermione, you know you want to come back to bed for a while."

I do, rather, but I can't give in now. "I'll try to be home early," I say, touching my wand to my air and turning it white.

Ron sighs theatrically. "Right," he says after several minutes. "Well, if you insist on going to the Ministry, I reckon I'll just have to go along with you."

"You can't," I remind him. "You're in South America."

"Mr. Dillweed isn't," Ron says, grinning at me.

"No, he's dead," I say.

"Oh," Ron says, looking a bit dashed. He brightens. "I'll be Swanhilda's boyfriend, then."

I can't help laughing. "I don't think you can call yourself my _boyfriend_ if we're both about ninety years old," I tell him. "You'd better be my gentleman friend."

"Expect me around ten," Ron says, getting out of bed and opening the wardrobe. "I'll take you to lunch."

It sounds more than a little early for lunch, but I don't say anything. He's actually taking this much better than I'd expected.

**Harry**

If Gawain hadn't left me in charge of the Auror Department, I'd have been on my way to Romania five minutes after Krum told me what he overheard in the Black Pearl. But he did… and I can't leave now, no matter how much I want to. Ron offered to go in my place, but I need Ron here, at least until after whatever the Brotherhood's planning for tomorrow has gone down.

"Gawain would be the first person to tell you to stay here and handle things," Ginny said last night, trying to comfort me. "And he could very well be perfectly fine, you know. Maybe it's all part of a plot, and you'd ruin everything for him if you suddenly went charging in to rescue him."

Maybe she's right. But I can't help remembering Gamp saying that Paienjen was more than a match for any Auror that ever lived. I groan silently and reach for my glasses. There's no point lying in bed if I can't sleep.

"What time is it?" Ginny mumbles sleepily.

I have to put my glasses on before I can see the clock across the room. "Late," I say, surprised and annoyed. "It's after nine. I meant to be up early."

"It's going to be a long two days for you," Ginny says practically. "You might just as well get some rest while you can. And we were up awfully late last night."

"You should have gone to bed," I say repentantly. "You need your sleep."

"Hermione wasn't about to go to bed till she heard from Ron, and I thought I'd keep her company," Ginny says lightly, but she's not fooling me.

I lean over and kiss her. "What about breakfast in bed today?" I suggest. "Kreacher wouldn't mind - he's always after us to eat proper meals."

Kreacher appears almost before the words have left my mouth. "Kreacher's master and mistress will have a tray this morning," he croaks, beaming at us. "A nice omelette for Mistress, perhaps?"

Ginny bursts into giggles the second he leaves the room. "Do you suppose he was listening at the door?" she whispers.

"Probably," I say.

Breakfast in bed cheers both of us up, and I'm feeling better as I head into the dining room for a quick word with Sirius before going into work. I want to go over the background information on Dearborn one more time. The house is silent around me, and I wonder if Ron and Hermione are still sleeping.

"Dearborn again?" Sirius says, opening his eyes. "I already went over it once with Hermione this morning, and then again with Ron when he came down."

I look around. "They're up already?"

"Up and gone," Dad informs me. He grins. "They make a nice elderly couple, that pair."

Elderly? "Hermione went to the Ministry, didn't she?" I say with a sigh.

"Ron was right behind her," Remus assures me. "He'll get her out of there if there's any trouble."

"Hermione's perfectly capable of handling anything that comes up," Mum says.

Sirius laughs. "That she is," he agrees. "You didn't know her when she was a kid, Lily, but _capable_ is exactly the word for her."

I don't have time for this. "Hermione was going to research Caradoc Dearborn in Magical Records," Remus says kindly, sensing my frustration. "You might just as well let her get on with it so you can focus on whatever else needs to be done."

"That's just it," I admit, dropping into a chair. "I don't know what else needs to be done. We can't plan anything till we know what they've got planned, and there's no chance of finding anything out before their meeting tonight."

"What's wrong with the plan you came up with last night?" Mum asks. "It sounded like a perfectly good idea to me."

It did to me, too - last night. Now I can't help thinking of how Gawain's always against letting other departments know what the Aurors are doing.

"Gawain's not here anymore," I say aloud.

Dad nods. "It's your show now, son," he says. "Do what you think is best."

I think about it all the way to work, but I've made up my mind to go ahead with the plan even before I've gotten off the lift. Anyway, it's too late to back out now - Professor McGonagall already agreed to do her bit when I sent her a Patronus late last night.

"I assume you have a very good reason for asking, which you will no doubt let me in on when I see you," the silver tabby had said in McGonagall's crispest tone. "The invitations will go out within the hour. Present yourselves at the gates at precisely half-past twelve tomorrow afternoon, and I shall arrange to have someone admit you."

People should have gotten their invitations early this morning. I give it an hour; then stroll over to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Percy, predictably, is looking excited.

"Did you get one of these, Harry?" he asks, waving a letter embossed with the Hogwarts seal at me. "Oh, you weren't a prefect, were you? Still, with all you did for Hogwarts I should have thought they might make an exception."

"As a matter of fact, I did get one," I say. "I don't think it's just prefects they were looking for. My letter said they were giving a luncheon for 'exceptional former students' who might be considered for candidacy as mentors to sixth and seventh years."

"Of course, of course!" Percy says hastily. "But _prefects_, you know…" His voice trails off, but I catch a muttered something about "Head Boy" as he sets the letter carefully to one side and picks up a sheaf of parchment. "My credentials," he says, waving the pages at me. "It was a bit of a stretch, gathering everything together so quickly. Professor McGonagall might have given us a bit more notice - but there, I mustn't complain!"

"I'm sure whatever you have will be fine,' I say, firmly stifling an urge to laugh. His _credentials_? He's going to be awfully disappointed when he finds out what he's really there for.

"I'll see you at lunch, then," I tell Percy, turning to leave. He nods absently, already engaged in making a careful note on one of his sheets of parchment.

I'd planned to stop in at Magical Maintenance next, but I'm lucky enough to run into Reg Cattermole near the lift. "Morning, Reg," I say cheerfully. "Have you got a moment? I wanted someone from Maintenance to have a look at the desk in my office. One of the drawers keeps sticking."

Reg nods. "I'll have a look straight away, Mr. Potter," he promises. "Unless you'd rather we sent someone a bit more senior?"

"It's Harry," I tell him. "And I'm sure you can handle it. Ron always speaks highly of your work."

Reg looks a bit more relaxed at the mention of Ron's name. He'd be far more comfortable taking this assignment from him - or even Perdita - but that's a luxury I haven't got just now. I close the office door behind us.

"There's nothing wrong with the drawer, Reg," I say as he bends to have a look. "I just needed an excuse to have a private word with you. The Aurors need your help."

Reg looks astonished. "My help?" he repeats dubiously. "Ah, I dunno, Mr. Pot - er, Harry. I was never all that good at those sorts of spells - only went to Hogwarts through fifth year, you see - and - "

"It's easy," I say reassuringly. "Look, I can't tell you all of the details, but we need an excuse for some of our people to have a really good look everywhere within the Ministry - even the private offices. I thought we could disguise them as Magical Maintenance workers, but I'm not quite sure what we ought to have them pretend to be looking for." I glance at him hopefully. "Maybe you could think of something?"

"Water leak," Reg says promptly. "It can cause real damage, plumbing. Lots of people don't realize."

"Would that entail searching every room?" I ask doubtfully.

"Could," Reg says. "We don't know where the leak is coming from, see. It could be anywhere." He looks a good deal more relaxed now that he knows I'm not going to ask him to fight a duel or something.

"Brilliant," I say. "Could you possibly lay your hands on some spare Maintenance robes - say, enough for ten people?"

Reg grins at me. "Reckon I could manage that," he says. "There's some that might get lost on their way back from the laundry, couldn't they? I can have 'em to you straight off, if you like."

"That would be perfect," I say gratefully. "One more thing, Reg. If anyone should ask you about this water leak…"

"Been trying to track it down on my own for a week now, but it's got me fair stumped," Reg says promptly. "Thought I'd better set a whole crew on it before it gets out of hand."

We make final arrangements, and Reg starts for the door. He pauses, hand on the doorknob. "Harry?" he says. "I know I oughtn't to ask - and it's not gossiping; it's only because he's always been decent to me, and Mary and the kids are right fond of him - "

"Ron's okay," I say. "But mind you keep it to yourself, yeah?"

"I won't even let on to Mary," Reg promises. I'll bet he does tell her, but it won't matter for much longer.

Left alone, I turn guiltily to the correspondence that's stacked up on my desk. I wish Persimmon would come back. She still hasn't caught Dawlish doing anything but trailing about after a group of middle-aged witches bent on learning everything there is to know about organic wool-farming. Funny I haven't heard from her for a couple of days - she's usually good about keeping in touch.

**Ron**

"There's my sweetheart," I say, beaming at Hermione from the doorway. "Ready for lunch, are you?"

Hermione rolls her eyes at me as Ernie bustles forward. "Friend of yours, Swanhilda?" he asks.

"This is my gentleman friend, Mr. - er - Bilius," Hermione says.

Oh, right - we never thought of a name for me. Ernie nods at me. "Off to lunch, are you?" he says. "Bit early, isn't it?"

"Eh?" I say, cupping my ear and giving him an inquiring look.

_"Early!"_ Ernie repeats loudly, tapping a finger on his watch.

I beam at him. "Yes, that's right, lad - the Leaky Cauldron's my favorite, too. Swannie here likes the French place, but give me proper English food every time!"

Ernie starts to say something, then clearly decides against it and merely nods at me. (It worked on the guard downstairs, too - I just kept pretending I couldn't hear him till he gave up and pointed me toward the lift.)

"I might not be here when you return, Swanhilda," Ernie calls after us. "I've a rather special luncheon appointment of my own." He pats his front pocket, looking rather pleased with himself. I guess he got McGonagall's invitation.

"Swannie?" Hermione murmurs in my ear as the lift door closes behind us.

"It goes better with Bilius," I tell her.

"We're not really going to lunch now, are we?" Hermione asks. "I don't think they even serve it this early."

"Nope," I say. "Swanhilda's going to give her boyfriend a tour of the Ministry, during which we'll get conveniently lost and wander into all sorts of places we shouldn't. You're going to be confused, and I'm going to be deaf. Actually, maybe we'd better both be a bit deaf."

"It might be overkill," Hermione says, catching on immediately. "I think I'll just be rather fluttery. Where do you want to start?"

I consider. "Anywhere but International Magical Cooperation," I say. "If Percy's gotten his invitation, he'll be even more insufferable than he was when his Head Boy badge arrived."

**Harry**

Just as I'd hoped, Hagrid's the one waiting by the gates for us. (I didn't really think McGonagall would make me deal with Filch, but you never know.) Hagrid's so pleased to see all of us that I begin to worry that everyone's lunch hour is going to be over and they'll all have to hurry back to the Ministry.

But at last we're in the main hall. Professor McGonagall glances pointedly at her watch before hustling us up to the seventh floor before we've even had a chance to look around. A few people - mostly the ones who weren't in the DA with us - look astonished when a door suddenly appears in a formerly blank wall, but others exchange knowing looks. A large oak table is in the center of the room, with just enough chairs for all of us.

"Please be seated," McGonagall says. "The food will appear shortly."

I wait by her side as the others find places around the table.

"I took the liberty of ordering a light luncheon," McGonagall says in my ear. "Would you like me to go now?"

"Definitely not," I tell her. "I promised you an explanation, didn't I? And I'd trust you before some of my own Department."

"That doesn't say very much for the Aurors," McGonagall says dryly, but she looks pleased. "Would you care to begin? They're waiting."

Everyone watches McGonagall expectantly as she takes a seat at the table.

"I'm afraid you've all been called here under false pretences," I say, and they all turn to look at me instead.

"So you're behind this, Harry!" Terry Boot says, grinning at me. "I might have known when I saw we were headed for the Room of Requirement!"

Percy's face crumples in disappointment. "Then we aren't really being considered as mentors?" he asks.

"Sorry," I tell him. "I needed an excuse to get all of you away from the Ministry so I could talk to you about something important. I'm going to need your help, and it's essential that you say nothing to anyone outside of this room about what I'm going to tell you. Do I have your word?"

"Absolutely," Terry says at once. Ernie, Percy, Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein and several others echo him. Morag McDougall from Magical Transportation and Margaret MacMillan from Magical Creatures exchange glances before nodding. I don't know them as well as some of the others, but I think I can trust them.

"Right," I say, wondering just where to begin. I probably should have planned something out, but I seem to do better with this sort of thing when I just wing it.

In the end, it doesn't take long to explain. "So you want us to just ambush someone and shut them in a cupboard or something?" Padma asks, looking confused.

"Not just anyone," I tell her. "There are certain very specific people that we'd like you to - er - get out of the way for us. But you've got the rest of it right." I reach into my pocket and pull out the scroll of parchment that I prepared before coming here. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I worked over this for hours last night. We're not positive we've identified the correct Brotherhood sympathizers in each department, but as Ron said, at least we're getting someone we don't trust out of the way.

"I'm going to give each of you a name," I say now. "First thing tomorrow morning, ask that person to go with you to an out of the way sort of place, like - " I hesitate.

"Like a supply cupboard?" Margaret MacMillan offers helpfully.

"Yes, exactly," I say, giving her a grateful look. "Make sure no one else is around, then Stun them, Petrify them, and try to conceal them. Oh, and most importantly, take a few strands of hair from their heads. We'll need those later."

"And the Aurors are going to use these hairs to make Polyjuice Potion, are they?" Terry asks interestedly. "I remember studying that one in Potions - Anthony and I thought of trying to make some on our own, but it took too bloody long."

_Seems even longer when you've got Moaning Myrtle hanging over your shoulder,_ I think, but I say only, "Yes, and then an Auror will take the place of your missing co-worker for the day."

"Yes, but why?" Percy asks. "Are you expecting some sort of trouble tomorrow?"

Several pairs of eyes look at me expectantly. I only hesitate for a second. "Possibly," I say honestly. "But we think we can control it by having Aurors present throughout the Ministry. And we're taking steps to locate and deactivate any curses prior to tomorrow."

"Is that what those Magical Maintenance people were after?" Padma says. "I suppose they were Aurors, weren't they? I might have known - I _told_ them we hadn't any water leaks!"

Platters of food begin to appear on the table. "We might just as well eat," I say, looking at my watch. "I know most of you have to go back to work. If you have any more questions, I'll try to answer them after lunch."

No one appears to have any - in fact, most of them seem to be more excited than alarmed. One by one, I take each person aside and whisper the name of their quarry. It doesn't seem to come as a shock to anyone.

"Thought you'd say him," Terry says with a grin. "It'll be a right pleasure to Stun that one!"

Morag MacDougall is positively delighted to hear that she's to take down Millicent Bulstrode. "I've been longing to Stun her for years," she admits happily. "It's lovely to have it sanctioned by the Aurors!"

"It would have been Axel," I say to Ernie when he reaches me. "But he seems to have disappeared."

Ernie looks disappointed. "Aren't I getting an Auror, then?" he asks.

I still hadn't made up my mind on that one. Hermione wants to be there, but Ron's dead set against it. They were still arguing about it when Ginny and I went to bed last night. "Of course you are," I say finally. "I don't really suspect Alicia of anything, but there's no reason you can't Stun her."

"I won't miss her," Ernie says honestly. "Swanhilda's old enough to be her great-grandmother, but she does three times as much work." He frowns. "I wonder if I ought to tell Swanhilda to stay home tomorrow. I know you lot think you've got it under control, but she's awfully old. I don't think she could defend herself if anything happened."

Oh, if he only knew. "Why not send her out of town on an errand?" I suggest. Hermione won't be pleased, but there are plenty of things she can do to help that don't involve going to the Ministry.

Ernie looks relieved. "There's a whole lot of old books and things that a wizard in Devon wants us to have a look at," he says. "I'll send her there."

"Brilliant," I tell him. I look around the room. People have finished eating and seem to be drifting toward the exit.

"Thank you all," I say loudly. "And I know I don't have to remind you, but not a word to anyone, all right? The Ministry's counting on you."

"The hell with the Ministry," Terry says. "Dumbledore's Army is counting on us!"

**Hermione**

"It's nearly two o'clock," I say, looking at my watch as we get into the lift. "I hope Ernie's not upset."

"Probably not back yet himself," Ron says. "Anyway, what does it matter if he is? You're not coming back here anyway."

I let it go for the present. We can (and probably will) argue about that later. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for tonight?" I ask, a little transparently.

"Trying to get rid of me?" Ron asks.

"Yes," I say. "Go home."

Ron grins at me, completely unoffended. "Mr. Bilius would walk his sweetheart to the door," he says. "I'll go after that - as long as everything looks all right."

As long as Basil's not there, he means. "If you think Basil was suspicious of me alone, what do you think he'd say if he saw the two of us together?" I demand.

"I'll bet you anything you like that Basil doesn't remember anything about my appearance except that I'm tall with red hair," Ron says calmly. "Most people aren't awfully observant, you know. It's why it's so easy to disguise yourself."

That's quite true, when I think about it, but Basil certainly noticed the resemblance in my case.

"Because he's always bloody looking at you, isn't he," Ron says, when I point this out.

"He isn't," I protest, but I suppose he is, rather. Only I don't think he's in love with me, or anything ridiculous like that. I think Basil just sees me as someone who can be useful to him. I start to say so, but the lift door is opening. "Behave," I hiss under my breath as Ron takes my arm.

As Ron predicted, Ernie's nowhere in sight. The office is empty except for Alicia. She starts guiltily as I come in; then relaxes and retrieves her horoscope book from under the desk where she'd thrown it.

"Alicia, this is my gentleman friend, Mr. Bilius," I say. "He was just leaving." I give Ron my sternest look, which he ignores.

"So this is Alicia," he says, beaming at her. "You're quite right, Swannie, she _is_ a pretty little thing!"

Honestly. But Alicia gives me the friendliest look that I've ever seen on her face before. "That's lovely of you to say," she says.

"Goodbye," I say firmly to Ron.

Ron sighs. "She's terribly cruel to me," he says to Alicia, who giggles obligingly. "Right then, Swannie, I'm off! Be a good girl now - don't go breaking any hearts! Remember, you're taken!"

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. Honestly, he's too ridiculous sometimes. You'd almost think he didn't realize how serious all of this is. But I know he does, really - it's just his way of coping.

Ron kisses my hand and shuffles out in his elderly man walk. Alicia smiles at me. "He's nice," she says.

"I'm sorry to have been so long," I say. "I do hope you weren't too rushed."

"Hardly," Alicia says. "Magical Maintenance came in and fiddled with the pipes or something - that was about as exciting as things got."

So they were in here already. Ron and I spotted them several times on our "tour" of the Ministry, but Ron gave them a wide berth. (Aurors, evidently, aren't as easily fooled by disguises as we common folk.)

"Oh, and an elderly man was in here looking for you," Alicia says. "He said it was a personal visit, so I thought I'd better not mention it in front of Mr. Bilius. Some men get awfully jealous."

An elderly man? Scarcely anyone at the Ministry knows Swanhilda by name, except for Basil and he's hardly elderly. Anyway, Alicia knows Basil. "What did he look like?" I ask.

"Old," Alicia says with a shrug, turning back to her book. "According to this, my sun sign's most compatible with a man born in late spring, but my moon sign works better with a December birthday. It's terribly complicated. I mean, which one am I supposed to believe?"

"If you want my honest opinion, dear, I think it's all nonsense," I can't help saying.

"Oh, but it isn't!" Alicia assures me eagerly. "Here, I'll look you up if you like, and then you'll see."

I'm saved from this by the reappearance of Ernie. Alicia hastily whips her book back into her desk and unrolls a large scroll in a businesslike manner.

"Ah, there you are, Swanhilda!" Ernie says. "I've a little job for you tomorrow. I'd like you to go and see a man for me."

Alicia looks up. "An elderly wizard," Ernie adds quickly, and Alicia loses interest immediately. "He has some old books and things he'd like us to have a look at. I've already owled him to expect us sometime in the next week, so he'll be looking out for you."

If I didn't know better, I'd swear Ron put him up to this. "Must it be tomorrow?" I ask innocently.

"Best not to put it off," Ernie says firmly. "It's in Devon, I believe - or quite possibly Cornwall; I'll have to look again. Anyway, it's a lovely bit of country. You might just as well take the day - do you good."

That means Swanhilda won't dare to set foot in the Ministry tomorrow. Never mind; I'll think of something else. "All right, dear," I say in my sweet old lady voice.

Ernie beams at me and drops a large envelope on my desk. "All the details are in there," he says. "I think you'll quite enjoy yourself tomorrow, Swanhilda!"

**Ron**

"If you don't stop pacing, I'm going to hex you," Ginny says finally.

"Hermione ought to be back by now," I say. "It's after five."

"It's just five," Ginny corrects. "You might give her thirty seconds or so to put on her cloak and get to the Atrium."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "It's just…"

"Hard waiting?" Ginny finishes for me. "Now you know how Hermione and I feel all the time."

I turn and really look at her for the first time. She's wearing her Quidditch robes. "Why've you got those on?" I ask.

"Because that's all that fits me anymore," Ginny says. "I - stop laughing!"

"Sorry," I say, but she's still glaring at me when Hermione finally walks in.

"Your husband's a prat," Ginny says loudly, even though Hermione's too busy kissing me to answer. "He's laughing at me because I can't get into my jeans anymore."

"You can get maternity jeans in a Muggle shop," Hermione says, dropping down on the sofa. "They've got a sort of stretchy panel bit in the front."

"Muggles _are_ clever," Ginny says, sounding exactly like Dad. "I'm going shopping tomorrow."

"Not in those robes, you can't," I tell her, but she ignores me. Anyway, I'll bet she won't go tomorrow. She knows what day it is as well as we do. "Maybe you ought to go shopping for Ginny," I say to Hermione, just to test her. "You can still do up your Muggle clothes."

"Nice try," Hermione says. "I suppose you told Harry to have a word with Ernie about me, too."

I stare at her, honestly confused. "What?"

"He's sending Swanhilda off to Cornwall or someplace to look at a lot of old books," Hermione says crossly. "I was sure you told Harry to put him up to it."

"I never did," I say, although to be truthful it was because I didn't think of it in time. "Maybe Ernie doesn't want to have to be worried about an old dear like Swannie if there's going to be trouble tomorrow."

"Never mind," Hermione says. "Just because Swanhilda can't show up at the Ministry tomorrow doesn't mean someone else can't."

"No," I say firmly.

Hermione rolls her eyes at me. "Padma Patil's helping," she says. "So's Terry Boot. So's Ernie's sister Margaret, and she wasn't even in the D.A."

"They aren't helping, exactly," I argue. "All they're doing is Stunning someone they've probably been longing to hex for ages and then staying the hell out of our way."

Hermione eyes me. "_Our_ way?" she repeats. "Whose place are you taking?"

"Dunno exactly," I say, but she guesses straight off.

"It's Basil, isn't it?" she says. "For heaven's sake, Ron - I told you and Harry I thought he was on our side!"

"I know you did," I tell her. "And maybe he is, but the thing is, Hermione, we don't know for certain. All we know is that he seems to know a hell of a lot more about all this than he ought to, and Harry and I both agreed we'd feel better if he was out of the way."

"You're enjoying this," Hermione says. "Don't pretend you're not."

I grin at her. "I won't."

"Who gets to Stun him?" Ginny asks. "Not you, obviously."

I wish. "Harry's working that out," I say. "I'll tell you one thing, though - I'm going to take the opportunity to go through his desk, and if there are any half-finished love letters to my wife in there, Basil might just find himself getting Stunned a second time!"

"Ron, honestly," Hermione says, but she looks rather pleased.

"There's Harry now," Ginny interrupts.

I start for the hall, but Ginny's ahead of me. "Give them a minute," Hermione says, pulling me back down beside her. "They hardly ever get to be alone with us here all the time."

"Neither do we," I say, putting my arm around her. "As soon as all this is finished, we're going house hunting." I hug her to my side. "Maybe you could have a look round Cornwall or wherever when you're running Ernie's errand tomorrow."

"I am not going to Cornwall," Hermione says firmly.

**Harry**

The Cloak barely covers the two of us these days, unless we stand perfectly still, but Ron and I have each taken a double dose of Dorika's potion just to be on the safe side. I only wish it hadn't made my watch invisible. It feels like we've been waiting here for hours, but it can't be as late as all that.

"They never mentioned a time, did they?" Ron whispers, echoing my thoughts.

I shake my head, forgetting that he can't see me. "It can't be much longer," I whisper back.

It's at least a half hour later by my estimation when we see the first shadows appear from behind the big oak tree. Two of the foreign wizards make their way cautiously across the lawn, followed closely by a third. Someone who looks very like Adrian Pucey in witch's robes is next.

I nudge Ron. "Now," I breathe.

We move silently as one under the Cloak, following the foreign wizards down the cellar steps. Adrian is hurrying to catch them up, and we just manage to get out of his way as he scurries down the stairs.

Simon Parkinson - still wearing his Eldon Gamp disguise - raises an eyebrow at him. "Someone chasing you?" he asks lazily.

Adrian glares. "I can't afford to be seen," he snaps, not bothering to camouflage his voice. The foreign wizards look startled, evidently not expecting the unknown witch to sound quite so masculine.

Others are arriving now, and the room fills rapidly. Jeremy Gamp arrives last, locking the door behind him with a muttered incantation. I look around, counting silently to myself. Nearly as many people as there are names on the scroll - all but one. We still haven't seen any sign of Caradoc Dearborn.

Adrian asks the question for me. "Isn't _he_ coming?" he says, addressing Jeremy.

Gamp shakes his head. "Too much of a risk," he says. "We can handle things tonight without him."

"But tomorrow?" Simon asks, looking slightly disturbed. "We can't - not without - "

"He'll be there when he's needed," Gamp says, cutting him off. "You weren't _doubting_ him, I hope?"

"Never," Simon says hastily. "Er - young Malfoy's not here, either. That anything we've got to worry about?"

Jeremy looks amused. "Hardly," he says. "Malfoy isn't here because I didn't invite him. It's better if he doesn't know anything until it's absolutely necessary. I'll take him aside tomorrow morning and give him his instructions."

Fortunately, I've already given him mine. Draco Malfoy isn't going to go to work tomorrow. For once, he wasn't at all put out.

One of the foreign wizards interrupts to say something. I can't understand his words, but the meaningful way he taps his watch makes it fairly obvious that he thinks there's been quite enough chit-chat.

Gamp nods and leads the way to the table. "We'll speak English," he says, much to my relief. "Not all of us speak Bulgarian well."

_Or at all, in my case,_ I think, relieved. It hadn't occurred to me that the meeting might not be conducted in English.

Gamp looks around, making eye contact with each person in turn. "It's simple enough," he says quietly. "Tomorrow is Visitor's Day at the Ministry. Working in twos and threes, you are to attach yourselves to various groups after they've checked in with Security. Do your best to blend in and remain inconspicuous. Regrettably, there are no tour groups from Eastern Europe scheduled, but there's one lot from Scandinavia and one from Germany. As long as you don't allow yourselves to be drawn into conversation, you shouldn't have much difficulty. Foreign is foreign, to most people." He allows himself a cold smile.

Bloody hell - I'd forgotten about Visitor's Day. Wait till Gawain hears. He's been trying to convince Kingsley to give up on the idea for ages on the grounds that it could lead to trouble, but Kingsley's determined to show the public that the Ministry has changed since the old days.

"Is easy to pass for German," one of the foreign visitors offers.

I look over at him. It's Axel, from Magical Records. I hadn't recognized him until he spoke.

"If it is so easy, vhy then are you no longer at the Ministry?" one of the others says skeptically.

"Vas not my fault," Axel says, glaring at him. "You are perhaps thinking I should stay vhen the English Ministry puts vun of its own Aurors at the desk next to my own?"

"We've been through all that," Jeremy says, a little wearily. "You've no proof she's an Auror."

"I recognize her!" Axel insists. "She is secretary to Robards - I am only seeing her vunce from a distance, but I have a good memory for faces, me! And vhen I make discreet inquiry, I am finding out that this secretary is avay!" He looks around triumphantly.

"The secretary could easily be on holiday," Gamp points out. "And in any case, it isn't the same person. We've checked."

"You have never heard of disguise?" Axel says. "I am knowing an Auror vhen I see vun. There is something in the vay they vatch - alvays it is the same."

Jeremy waves him off. "It scarcely matters at this point," he says. "I trust you've no problem with joining the German group tomorrow?"

"I vill perhaps be Svedish to confuse the Aurors," Axel decides.

Jeremy turns to Simon. "You and your good friend will arrange to call on the person we discussed at precisely eleven o'clock," he says. "It should put you in an excellent position."

Simon nods. "It's all been arranged," he says.

Gamp's eyes sweep the table again. "The rest of you will contrive to lose your individual groups at some point between eleven and half-past," he says. "At a quarter to twelve, you will go to your assigned exit points and prevent anyone from leaving the building. You'll be notified when we have everything under control." He waits, but the silence in the room is absolute. "Are there any questions?" he asks.

Apparently there aren't. There's a general scraping of chairs as people make ready to leave. Gamp's voice stops them.

"One more thing," he says coldly. "You've all signed the scroll. You know the penalty for betrayal."

There's not a sound in the room as they file out, one by one. Ron and I watch as they disappear into the darkness without a trace. 

**Hermione**

It's late when I finally hear them come in. Ginny - still in her Quidditch robes - is sound asleep on the sofa, but I couldn't seem to relax. I go out into the hall to warn them to be quiet so they don't wake her.

Ron's there, but Harry's not with him. "There's a last-minute Auror meeting," Ron says, in answer to my unspoken question. "I wasn't invited, obviously."

"Did the Brotherhood have their meeting?" I ask. "Were you able to get inside?"

"We heard the whole thing," Ron answers. "And it was even in English, which was a nice break for us. We know exactly what they've got planned for tomorrow - most of it, anyway."

_Most_ of it is right, I think, after he's finished telling me. "I suppose the 'he' they mentioned must be Caradoc Dearborn," I say. "And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Simon's friend turned out to be Lucius Malfoy. But where does Jeremy fit into all this? What's he planning to do tomorrow?"

"Oddly enough, Simon asked him the same question," Ron says. "Harry and I hung about for a few minutes after most of them had left, just to see if we could pick up a bit more information, and those were the first words out of Simon's mouth. Very considerate of him, seeing as I was wondering the same thing. Only Jeremy didn't quite like to say. He just mumbled something about everything being under control, and people sticking to their assigned tasks. That didn't go down very well with Simon, as you might expect, but Gamp scurried out of there before he could ask him any more questions."

I don't like the sound of that at all. "If Gamp isn't at the Ministry tomorrow, you won't be able to arrest him with the others," I say, frowning. "Supposing he gets away?"

"He's not going to get away," Ron says confidently. "Where else is he going to go besides the Ministry? That's where all the action's going to be. Personally I think he's only got a sort of minor role tomorrow now that Dearborn's taking charge. He likely didn't want to let on to Simon, but I'll bet he's been demoted."

Something feels wrong here - like there's something we're forgetting, but I can't seem to put my finger on it.

"Why're we standing about in the hall, anyway?" Ron says, interrupting my thoughts. "I've been standing all night - let's go sit down."

"Ginny's asleep on the sofa," I say, leading the way to the dining room. "We'll have to talk in here."

"I never got a chance to ask you earlier," Ron says, pausing in the doorway. "Did you have a chance to look into Dearborn's past?"

"I worked on it all evening," I tell him. (Poor Ginny - no wonder she fell asleep. I suppose I wasn't much company.) "It's in the other room - I'll go and get it."

"I nearly forgot to tell you," Ron says, grinning at me as I re-enter the dining room. "Axel thought Swanilda was Persimmon. I nearly laughed out loud when he came out with it."

So that's why he left his position so suddenly. "Swanhilda doesn't look anything like Persimmon," I protest.

"Well, they've both got white hair," Ron says with a shrug. "I don't think the Brotherhood's exactly recruiting the best and the brightest. I mean, look at Grigor."

Fair point. I drop my scroll front of him. "Have a look at this and tell me what you think," I say.

"This is _long_," Ron complains, unrolling several feet of parchment. "You didn't have to write his biography."

"Just read it," I say.

He rolls his eyes, but obediently picks it up. A second later he glances up at me, startled. "Dearborn's father was from New Zealand?"

"Was he?" Sirius says, opening his eyes. "I never knew that."

"Not just his father," I say. "Caradoc Dearborn himself was born there, but he and his mother moved to London when he was just a year old."

Sirius nudges James. "Wake up, Prongs! Hermione's found out some things about old Dearborn."

"His father must be dead by now," Ron says. "Dearborn's ancient."

"He's not that old," James says, yawning. "He was about twenty years older than we were, and if I were still alive I'd be… Lily, how old would we be?"

It clearly sounds old to Ron, but thankfully he doesn't say so. "It says here both his parents are dead, and he's got no close relatives," he says instead, tapping the scroll. "Ministry officials in New Zealand tried to trace him after his father's death, but they didn't have much luck. The family estate in New Zealand remains unclaimed - due to some sort of clause in the will, it can't be claimed by the Ministry." He looks at me thoughtfully. "I wonder if it's really unclaimed."

I shrug. "Remember who else was in New Zealand?" I say. "If Caradoc Dearborn and Lucius Malfoy happened to cross paths…"

"We'd never know it because Gawain had bloody Dawlish watching Malfoy," Ron says, looking disgusted. "He probably missed all sorts of things."

"Hasn't Harry got someone else there now?" Remus asks, leaning forward in his frame.

"Persimmon," Ron answers promptly. "She went to keep an eye on Dawlish. Shame she didn't go earlier - nothing much gets by her."

He sets the scroll down and looks at me. "Harry can send a message to Persimmon, but I don't think there's much else we can do at this point," he says. "Was there anything left of dinner, seeing as I missed mine?"

I'm amazed he waited this long to bring it up. "I'll fix you a plate," I say. "You stay here and wait for Harry - and you might read through the rest of that scroll. There's quite a lot of information in there."

**Harry**

I'm up before dawn, after what was possibly the worst night's sleep of my entire life. A yawning Kreacher brings me a pot of tea and a breakfast that I'm quite sure I won't be able to eat before shuffling wordlessly back to the kitchen. Ron joins me five minutes later, looking as hollow-eyed as I feel.

"You couldn't sleep either?" I say.

"I finally got Hermione to promise me she wouldn't go anywhere near the Ministry today," Ron says. "I thought I'd better get out of here before she changes her mind."

Ron was doing his best last night to convince Hermione that she ought to run Ernie's errand in Cornwall today - or alternately, go shopping with Ginny. Personally, I wouldn't have minded having her work with us, but I thought it might be a better idea if I just kept my mouth shut. I keep it shut now, too, electing instead to force down a few bites of toast.

"You'd better have the Cloak today," I say finally, changing the subject. "I don't know how far I'd trust that Invisibility Potion."

"It does tend to wear off rather suddenly," Ron agrees, piling scrambled eggs onto his plate. "Right, then - I'll follow you in, wearing the Cloak, and then what? If I sit down at my desk someone's likely to sit on me. Seeing as it's probably not even my desk anymore."

"It's still your desk," I assure him. "I'm pretty sure Hathaway took your chair, though. He left his in its place."

"Hathaway's chair is missing one of its arms," Ron says, looking outraged. "I'm bloody well changing it back again."

Well, that'll keep him occupied till we make our move. "Just be ready to swallow your Polyjuice and take your place as Basil," I say.

Ron grins at me as he reaches for his third piece of toast. "I'm looking forward to it," he says.

The Atrium is dark and silent when I arrive. A sleepy-looking guard blinks at me and then leaps to his feet. "Morning, Mr. Potter!" he says quickly. "Bit early this morning, aren't you, sir?"

I can't have him thinking it's suspicious. "The truth is, my wife's expecting and she's not feeling her best in the mornings," I say, smiling at him. "It tends to put me off my breakfast, if you know what I mean."

"Only too well, sir," the guard says emphatically. "It gets better after the first few months, though."

"Glad to hear it," I tell him. "But in the meantime, I thought I'd get a bit of work done and then take my breakfast in the Café."

The guard nods. "And may I offer my congratulations, sir?" he says. "I read all about it in Rita Skeeter's column - I don't think much of her as a writer myself, but my wife's ever so fond of her - and she said to me, well, here's something that might interest you, Ebeneezer, seeing as you work at the Ministry, and - "

Ron's elbowing me to get on with it. He's quite right - this could go on all day. "Thanks for your good wishes," I say hastily, and hurry to the lift with Ron right on my heels.

I'd thought it was too early to come in, but there are plenty of details to cover, and before I know it the other Aurors are arriving. They've already got their Polyjuice, and now I hand each a small vial of Invisibility Potion with a warning not to swallow it too soon, as it's likely only enough for about ten minutes. I wish we'd got more of it, but it can't be helped now.

"I'll give it a few minutes before I head off to Magical Creatures," Hathaway says, heading for his desk. "It might look odd if we're all milling about the corridors at the same time and - here, who moved that chair back?" He starts for Ron's desk, intent on retrieving his pilfered property.

I don't need to see him to know that Ron's firmly settled in his own chair again. "Why not stop in at the Café for a cup of tea first?" I say to Hathaway. "That way we're not all coming from the same direction."

"Right," I say in a low voice, once they've gone. "You'll just need to get yourself into Magical Law and wait behind that huge row of filing cabinets they've got at the far end of the room. Once you see Basil knocked out, you can take his place."

"Just one thing," Ron's voice says. There's a swishing sound as he pokes his head out from under the Cloak to look at me. "Who's knocking Basil out? You never said."

I grin at him. "Didn't I?"

"You know bloody well you didn't," Ron's disembodied head says. His eyes narrow in suspicion. "It'd better not be Hermione, that's all, because - "

"Relax," I say. "It's not Hermione. Your dad reckoned he'd be willing to do the job for us."

**Ron**

I'm a bit nervous about seeing Dad, even though Harry said he explained to him that "the Auror" (he never said who I was) would be invisible and that he'd just need to listen for the password (Harry set us all up with passwords, too - he didn't miss anything this time) and then hand over Basil's hair.

I needn't have worried, though. Dad knocks Basil out like a champion (only wish I could've had the pleasure myself) and leans down to pull a few hairs from his head. "Is someone there?" he whispers.

"Pepper mill," I whisper back. That's the password - sort of an odd one, if you ask me, but Harry wanted them all to be ordinary words. I think he mostly just used the names of things in the dining room, since that's where he was when he came up with the list.

It's only two words, and I tried to disguise my voice, but Dad looks startled anyway. He stares in my direction for a second or two before shaking his head to himself and holding out the hairs. "There you are," he whispers. "I'll get rid of this one. Let me know if you need help."

I hesitate - is it worse to let him see my hand, or to tell him to set the hairs on the floor and have him hear my voice again? I finally do a quick Disillusionment Charm on my hand and yank the hairs from between his fingers.

Dad looks startled again - I guess it wasn't all that polite of me, was it? - but simply turns to Basil. "That cupboard, I think," he murmurs, nodding to one directly behind me. "If you'd be so kind…"

I flick my wand at the cupboard door - at least I can manage _Alohomora_ non-verbally - and wait while he stuffs Basil in. "Nearly forgot," Dad says cheerfully. "_Petrificus totalus!_" He closes the cupboard door on Basil, nods in my general direction, and goes.

I wait till I'm sure he's gone before swallowing my Polyjuice. I wait for it to take effect; then fling off the Cloak and stuff it into my pocket.

Right, then - off we go. Time to see what Basil's got stashed away in his desk.

"Oh, there you are, Basil," someone says. It's a witch - I think her name's Camilla Something. "Have you finished the report on statistical comparisons of crimes per population for the last five decades? We need it straight away."

I bloody well hope Basil's finished it, because I haven't the slightest idea what she's talking about. "I think it's on my desk," I say, crossing my fingers.

**Hermione**

"I've absolutely got to get some of those maternity jeans," Ginny says over breakfast. "I can't go on wearing my Quidditch robes every day, and my only other robes are all dress ones."

I stop pushing food aimlessly around on my plate and stare at her. "You don't seriously want to go shopping today," I protest. "Especially in a Muggle store! What if someone needs to get in touch with us?"

What if something happens, is what I mean, but I don't say it out loud. I know Ron and Harry are both experienced Aurors, but - well, some of the Brotherhood strike me as the sort who wouldn't stop at much.

Ginny helps herself to another muffin. Honestly - the Weasleys don't let anything get in the way of eating. "I didn't mean go to a store," she says, pushing the plate in my direction. "Eat something, Hermione - you'll feel better."

I can't. "What did you mean, then?" I ask.

Ginny smiles at me. "Let's think," she says innocently. "Who do we know who's about my size, recently had a baby, and practically lives in jeans?"

"Perdita?" I say, startled. "But we can't go there."

"Why can't we?" Ginny demands. "Harry and I visit Andromeda and Teddy all the time. It won't look a bit odd if I go there. And there's no reason you can't come with me. You won't need to hide anymore after today, and you can certainly trust Andromeda and Perdita not to say anything."

I hesitate. It seems to me there's another reason we shouldn't go there, but I ignore the feeling. I simply can't stay cooped up here worrying all day, and Ginny's right. Andromeda's not going to say anything, and I'm quite sure that Perdita's known where Ron is ever since the night "Harry" went to visit her. "All right," I say. "But I don't think we ought to be gone long."

Ginny beams at me. "Have a muffin," she says kindly. "It really will make you feel better."

**Harry**

"You're late, Malfoy," Percy says coldly as I sit down at Malfoy's desk. "Your young friend has been waiting for you for half an hour." He nods at Grigor, who's staring dully out a nearby window.

"Is not anymore raining," Grigor says, sounding puzzled. "It vas raining vhen I came, but look! Now sun is out!"

"It's not real, idiot," I say in Malfoy's most superior tone.

Percy tuts at me reprovingly. "That's no way to treat a guest," he says. "Grigor, Magical Maintenance has enchanted the windows to look like the outside world, but you do understand that we're actually underground, don't you?"

Grigor looks confused. Percy sighs. "Never mind," he says. "See that you make more of an effort to be on time, Malfoy. Punctuality is a virtue."

I can't help thinking that Percy must be the world's most annoying boss. "Right," I say, clipped and cool. I busy myself in looking for something in a drawer until he gives up and leaves.

Grigor edges nearer. "Vhy is it you are so late?" he whispers. "Something has changed?"

_Malfoy's not supposed to know anything,_ I remind myself. "If you must know, I overslept," I say crossly. "Haven't you anything to do? I'm far too busy to entertain you."

Grigor gives me a knowing look and turns back to the window. "In my country, the veather is not changing so qvickly," he says.

I'm tempted to tell him to go outside and see if it starts raining again, but he's supposed to be here - I think. Gamp didn't mention Grigor at all.

I find a report Malfoy's evidently been working on - something about shipping practices - and pretend to be absorbed in it, but every nerve is on edge. At ten o'clock I invent an errand and make a quick circuit of the floors, but everything seems to be just as usual.

"The vizard vith the glasses is looking for you," Grigor says when I return.

Of course he was. I don't think Percy's sat down at his desk once today - he's too busy pacing back and forth, alert for any signs of trouble. I wish he wouldn't be quite so obvious about it, but I can hardly tell him so when he thinks I'm Malfoy.

Percy spots me and heads purposefully in my direction. Halfway to me, he stops suddenly, looking startled.

"Ah, there you are, Draco," an unpleasantly familiar voice drawls from behind me. "Hard at work, I see."

"Hello, Father," I say, turning to face him. "I wasn't expecting to see you here today."

Lucius glances disparagingly at my desk. "I had an appointment nearby, and I thought I might drop in to see your office," he says. "I didn't expect you to be in a _cubicle_."

No, because all entry-level workers have private offices, don't they? Or maybe it's different when your name is Malfoy. I ignore the remark, focusing instead on the man standing next to Lucius.

"Good morning," I say, deliberately not using his name. I'll take my cue from him.

"Eldon, you've met my son, haven't you?" Lucius says carelessly. "This is Draco. Draco, this is Eldon Gamp."

Despite my apprehension, I feel a sudden rush of relief. If I hadn't guessed right… but I did.

_You and your good friend will arrange to call on the person we discussed at precisely eleven o'clock… It should put you in an excellent position._

An excellent position for what, I wonder? I have a feeling I'm about to find out. I slip my hand unobtrusively into my pocket, getting a good grip on my wand, and give "Eldon Gamp" my best Malfoy smirk.

"Do you know, Father, I believe I have met Mr. Gamp before," I say.

**Ron**

It's been over an hour and the most interesting thing I've learned about Basil is that he keeps a little book with notes on everyone in the Ministry. At first I was sure it meant he was a spy, but the sorts of things he's got written down aren't spy things. Like for Kingsley, it says "Avid Tornadoes fan; enjoys Asian food; hobbies include sailing and gourmet cooking. Girlfriend's name - " (Here he's got about a dozen names crossed out - Kingsley gets around a bit.) Anyway, you wouldn't bother about all that stuff if you were going to try and attack someone - you'd only use it to suck up, wouldn't you? There are entries for every one of the Ministry Department heads, all the witches and wizards in the Wizengamut, the head of Gringotts, and lots of other people. There's even one about Hermione ("Enjoys reading; parents live in Australia; married to Auror") and one about Harry ("Quidditch fan - used to play; wife's name is Ginny"), which is pretty funny because I don't think Harry's ever said two words to him.

So basically what I've learned here is that Basil isn't a spy. He's just a suck-up.

"Goodness, I've never known you to be so quiet," Mafalda Hopkirk says, pausing on her way by. "Haven't you got to rush off to a meeting or something?"

I guess Basil doesn't normally mind his own business. "Just catching up on a bit of paperwork," I say. "I thought I might look in on some of the tour groups later."

Mafalda rolls her eyes. "I'd forgotten it was Visitors Day," she says. "I suppose that means there won't be a table to be had in the Café at lunchtime. I'll have to go out."

I have a feeling that the last thing she's going to need to worry about today is finding a place for lunch, but I don't say so. "Why not treat yourself to a little shopping trip, Mafalda?" I say instead. "Gladrags has their new spring line in." (Gladrags is Mafalda's favorite store - it says so in Basil's little book.)

Mafalda brightens. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to just have a peek," she says. "You'd better hurry, Basil, if you're going to catch the tours. They'll be arriving soon."

They won't, really, but Basil would probably stop to comb his hair and slap on another layer of cologne before he went down to the Atrium. It'll give me a chance to get a good look at the visitors as they arrive, anyway.

"Yes, I'd best be off," I say briskly. "I'll see you later, Mafalda."

"Probably at Gladrags," Mafalda says knowingly.

Yeah, right - that'll happen. I smile at her. "I might just have a peek," I say.

**Hermione**

"These are perfect," Ginny says, modeling her new maternity jeans for us. "Thanks so much, Perdita - I'll be sure and give them back when I'm finished."

"Keep them," Perdita says firmly. "Once is enough for me." She looks at me sideways. "Or maybe you can pass them on to Hermione."

Perdita guessed straight away that Ron and I hadn't ever broken up, although she was careful not to say so until the three of us were alone in the room she's sharing with Marvin and the baby.

"Not yet," I say. "Not until things have settled down." I catch Ginny and Perdita exchanging looks and change the subject firmly. "Will you move back to your old flat?" I ask Perdita. "I mean, after all of this…"

"Settles down?" Perdita finishes for me. "Do you think there's any chance of that happening soon?" Her voice is casual, but her eyes are alert. I should have known she'd pick up on it.

I look at Ginny for help. "Who knows?" Ginny says with a shrug. "In the meantime, it's lovely here. And it's nice for Andromeda to have company. I think she must get rather lonely sometimes with just Teddy."

"She probably looks back on those days with longing," Perdita says with a grin. "The baby didn't sleep much last night."

Ginny leans over the cradle. "He'll be nearly a year older than mine, but they can still be friends," she says. "Won't it be fun when they're old enough to play together?"

"Let's hope everything's what Hermione calls settled down before you have yours," Perdita says. Her eyes return to me. "What's going on today, Hermione? You must feel fairly certain they're about to finish things off or you wouldn't have dared to come here."

"It's perfectly safe here," I hedge.

"Not going to tell me?" Perdita says good-naturedly. "Perfect Aurors' mates, both of you! Well, let's see if I can figure it out."

I'm only too certain that she can. "We really ought to go back downstairs," I say quickly. "We've left Andromeda and Teddy alone for ages."

"Teddy's supposed to be learning to write his name, and he won't do it properly if we're around," Perdita says calmly. "She'd far rather have us out of the way until he's finished his lessons."

I look at Ginny again. She jostles the cradle hopefully, but the baby sleeps on.

"Let's see," Perdita says thoughtfully. "When I left, we were feeling rather suspicious about a group of foreign wizards, most of whom appeared to be associates of Jeremy's from his Durmstrang years. We know that Jeremy's politics are a lot closer to Voldemort's than they are to Kingsley Shacklebolt's, so that can't possibly have meant anything good. I'd say his little group is just egotistical enough to think they can take on the Ministry of Magic, and that Gawain's got some sort of plan to stop them." She eyes us speculatively. "Close enough?"

Ginny throws me a startled look. Perdita intercepts it and laughs.

"It's not exactly difficult to put the pieces together," she says. "Mind, there's a good deal I don't know."

Like the fact that Gawain hasn't any part in this - and that no one knows where he is. But I'm certainly not going to say so. "You're very clever, Perdita," I say instead.

"There's one thing that worries me," Perdita says. "I'm afraid they're underestimating Jeremy. They think they'll catch him with the others - but they won't." Her voice is suddenly flat.

"Oh, but - " Ginny starts, and then breaks off in confusion.

"You don't understand, Ginny," Perdita says, still in the same flat voice. "Jeremy's not going to allow himself to be caught. If something's happening at the Ministry today, he won't be within ten miles of the place." Her eyes are on the window, not us, as she continues. "There's something he wants a great deal more than the Ministry."

"You?" I whisper. That was what I couldn't put my finger on before - the reason it was dangerous for us to come here.

"Me," Perdita confirms. Her eyes finally meet mine. "I want my life back, Hermione. I'm tired of hiding from Jeremy. I want it finished."

"Yes," I say. I know exactly how she feels. I want my life back, too.

Ginny looks anxiously from one of us to the other. "What are you going to do?" she asks, her uneasiness plain in her voice.

"Who says I'm going to do anything?" Perdita answers, but the look in her eyes says she's not telling the truth.

**Ron**

Even if I hadn't just seen the Brotherhood members for myself last night, I wouldn't have had any trouble spotting them. They're dressed much like the other members of the tour groups - it's their expressions that keep them from blending in. The legitimate tourists all look excited or interested, depending on their personalities. The Brotherhood members just look tense. Gamp might have taught them what to do, but even he can't turn them into actors.

O'Connor, Jackson, and Hestia have taken the places of the usual tour guides this morning, although I'm not sure which is which. I can tell by the way the "guides" are watching their groups that they haven't had any trouble picking out the Brotherhood lot.

"We've some rather large groups this morning," one of the guides says brightly. (I think it's O'Connor because she keeps flicking her hair back the way O'Connor always does.) "Perhaps we'd better split up into six instead of the usual three. I can call some extra guides, and - "

"Please, ve vill stay together," Axel says firmly. The Swedes in his group look rather as if they wouldn't mind parting company with him and his three friends, but Axel's immovable. "I am vaiting very long for this opportunity. I am not minding a big group." He looks challengingly at the others, all of whom hastily agree.

Well, good try, O'Connor. It would have been nice to split them up, but I never thought they'd go for it. Neither did she, probably.

I step forward. "Good morning," I say brightly. "I'm Basil Sedgewick from the Department of Magical Law. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I'd like to welcome you all."

"Who's this prat?" I hear one of the other guards mutter. (That means he must be Jackson, of course.) They don't know it's me. Nobody knows I'm Basil except for Harry and Hermione.

I give Jackson one of Basil's smarmy smiles. "As a member of the Wizengamut, I'm very interested in these little tours," I tell him. "The Minister is anxious that everything should go smoothly. And if questions should arise about my own Department, I'm naturally the best person to answer them."

Jackson's too dumbfounded to answer me. I see Hestia and O'Connor exchanging looks. "I wish I could accompany all of you, but unfortunately there's only one of me," I say, imitating Basil's affected laugh. "I think I'll start with this group and then try to catch up with the others later." I nod at Jackson's group. The Brotherhood members have split themselves pretty evenly, but Jackson's got Adrian/Etilka, and I think he's by far the most dangerous of the lot.

"Right," Jackson says, after a moment's silent struggle with himself. "Well - er - this way, please, to the lifts." He throws an incredulous look over his shoulder at O'Connor as he leads the way across the Atrium.

"See you later," I say, waggling my fingers at the other two groups.

_Really, it's lucky for Jackson that I came along,_ I think, twenty minutes later. He may be a good Auror, but he makes a lousy tour guide.

"Down that way is Magical Creatures," Jackson says, flapping his hand vaguely down the corridor. "They work with - er - magical creatures. Pixies and elves and all that. Oh, and werewolves and merpeople - that sort of thing."

"Actually, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is divided into three sub-groups," I say, giving Jackson a reproachful smile. I know a lot more about this department than I ever expected to, because Hermione memorized everything about it when she worked here, and then she told it all to me about a million times. "The first is the Beings division, which encompasses - "

I break off as I notice Adrian Pucey and his three friends edging away from the group. "Here, where are you going?" I ask. "I'm just getting to the interesting part!"

One of the Brotherhood wizards bows politely. "Is all most interesting, but unfortunately ve are pressed for time," he says. "Perhaps ve vill come again some day."

I steal a quick glance at my watch. Twenty minutes past eleven - they're right on schedule. "Well, if you must," I say with a shrug. "It's a shame, though - you haven't seen my own department yet - the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

A sort of signal seems to pass among them at my words. "You have convinced us," Adrian says, using his Etilka voice. "Ve vill remain for a short time longer. But perhaps ve can be seeing this department of yours right avay, yes?"

_But you can't,_ I think idiotically, staring at Adrian. _You're supposed to go and block the exits. Why are you agreeing with me?_

"Well, if our guide has no objections," I say, managing to get hold of myself.

"Actually, I have," Jackson says curtly. He must be as thrown as I am by the sudden change in plans, but there's no way for me to communicate with him. "We're supposed to do Level Three next." He spares a quick, anxious glance at the party of Swedish tourists who've politely followed his every word, and I realize he's worried about their safety.

"I'd be only too pleased to escort the smaller group," I say. "Then you could stay with the others and continue as you'd planned." I nod at Adrian and his companions. "If you'd care to accompany me…"

Jackson starts to object, but they're already following me to the lift. I try desperately to think of some way to let him know that I'm me, not Basil, and that I've got this handled. "Enjoy your trip to Magical Creatures," I say over my shoulder. "I heard they'd got an albino peacock in this week - most interesting, although I understand they can be rather territorial birds."

Jackosn looks startled; then understanding starts to creep slowly over his face. "Was that in today's _Prophet_?" he asks, just to be sure. It's one of our old code phrases.

I give the expected response. "I'm afraid I only had time for the Quidditch scores today," I answer. It's sort of a joke between me and Jackson - he hates the sportswriter for the _Daily Prophet_ almost as much as Ginny does.

Jackson's mouth opens, but the lift is here. "After you," I say politely, stepping back to let Adrian and his friends in ahead of me.

Just as the door's closing, I step back out.

"Vhere are you going?" one of the Bulgarians asks sharply.

I lean forward as if to answer him, but the door's already shut. I can hear the creaking and grinding that tells me the lift is on its way. They're between floors now.

And then I pull out my wand. The creaking and grinding noises cease immediately. Really, that was almost too easy.

"They'll get out," Jackson says, abruptly abandoning his tour guide persona.

"They won't," I answer. "You can't Apparate or Disapparate except in the Atrium. Anyway, I reckon they're Petrified along with the lift." I grin at him. "Means a lot of people are going to have to use the stairs today."

Jackson grins back. "There's more than one lift," he says. "They'll manage." He glances back over his shoulder at his group of confused-looking tourists. "I'd better get this lot out of here," he adds. "See you in a bit, then."

I nod.

Jackson lowers his voice. "Good to have you back," he says.

I start to say that it's good to be back, but Jackson's already shepherding his group toward the other lift. I turn toward the stairs. Whatever was just supposed to happen on Level Two must be pretty compelling if Adrian decided to ignore his orders. I might just as well have a look for myself.

**Harry**

They'll be splitting off from their groups now, heading to the exits, I think, glancing surreptitiously at my watch. They'll find Aurors there ahead of them. Not that anyone would know them for Aurors - they'll be in Magical Maintenance robes, busily checking squeaky hinges and rusty locks, or touching up the paint on the door frames.

The exits are the least of my worries just now. According to what we overheard, the real action's due to take place in Kingsley's office. But Lucius and Simon don't seem to be in any hurry to get there.

"Are you staying for lunch, Father?" I ask.

Lucius looks faintly disgusted. "Oh, I think not," he says coldly. "Surely you don't eat here, Draco."

"The food's not bad," I say. "Unfortunately the décor in the Café tends to ruin my appetite."

Lucius smiles coldly in acknowledgement of the joke. "It's a veritable tribute to Saint Potter, the hero of Hogwarts," he explains in answer to Simon's questioning look.

Simon's lip curls. "That will be one of the first things to change," he says.

Lucius throws him a warning glare, but it's too late.

"Father?" I say inquiringly.

"Nothing for you to worry about, Draco," Lucius says, narrowing his eyes in Simon's direction.

I take the plunge. "If you're planning something, you might let me in on it," I say boldly. "Maybe I could help."

Simon gives me an approving look. "That's what I said," he remarks. "Well, Lucius?"

"It's time," Lucius says to him, deliberately not answering the question.

Simon shrugs and wanders away to stand casually by the door. The exit - he's guarding the exit. But why in here?

The answer comes to me almost immediately. It's because the Department of International Magical Cooperation controls access to international Portkeys. I almost groan aloud at my own stupidity. How did I miss that when Jeremy even mentioned it to Draco once?

It's not too late, though. I still have the element of surprise in my favor. And I have…

"Still not finished with that list of banned substances, Higgins?" I hear Percy saying to someone a few desks away. He glances nervously in our direction.

Right. I have Percy. Well, he'll have to do.

"Get rid of Weasley," Lucius mutters, unwittingly helping me.

I nod, then head in Percy's direction. "The man by the door is Simon Parkinson in disguise," I whisper, pretending to hand him a roll of parchment. "No, don't look! Act like you're going back to your office, and then turn quickly and Stun him. Don't hesitate for a second or it's going to be too late."

Percy gives me a suspicious look. "Why are you telling me this?" he asks, also in a whisper.

There's no time to explain - and knowing Percy, he'd make me answer about fifty questions before he'd believe I'm Harry. Lucius and Simon could've taken over ten Ministries by then.

"Just do it," I say between my teeth. "Potter's orders. Ask him if you don't believe me."

Percy looks as though he doesn't, in fact, believe me - but Simon came in with Lucius, after all. "You do the one by the door," he says, challenging me. "I'll take the other."

The other. Lucius. I wish now that I hadn't decided to be Draco Malfoy - Percy'd never believe Draco would take down his own father.

"Fine," I say. Ignoring the startled look on Percy's face, I start back toward Lucius. At the last second, I turn sharply and point my wand at Simon.

Simon, looking almost as startled as Percy, manages to jump aside at the last possible second. He pulls his own wand out as the door frame behind him shatters from the impact of my curse.

Lucius is coldly enraged. "What do you think you're doing, Draco?" he demands. He hasn't quite realized it yet. He strides toward me, clearly furious, but I'm too busy fighting off Simon to do anything about it. Anyway, Lucius wouldn't hurt his own son - would he? _Oh, come on, Percy, please._

"_Stupefy!_" someone shouts. It sounded like Percy, but I hardly dare to let myself believe it until I see Simon's jaw drop. He's taken off guard just for a split second, and I press my advantage, knocking him out neatly with a quick Stunning Spell.

I turn to see Percy standing over Lucius Malfoy's prone body. He looks as though he can't quite believe what just happened. The other people in the department have gathered at a safe distance and are watching us, apparently not quite sure how to react. Even Grigor's managed to tear himself away from the fascinating spectacle at the window and is regarding us with his mouth hanging wide open. I flick my wand carelessly in his direction, wincing as he falls rather heavily to the floor. I don't think he'd have given us much trouble, but it's just as well to have him out of the way.

"Nice one, Perce," I say, grinning at him. "Think you can manage to keep an eye on the lot of them while I see what's happening downstairs?"

Percy seems almost incapable of speech. He manages a nod, still staring down at Lucius. "You might want to immobilize them," I suggest gently.

_"Petrificus Totalus,"_ Percy whispers.

"Mr. Weasley?" someone says from behind him. One of Percy's employees takes a tentative step forward, the list of banned substances still dangling from his hand. "Mr. Weasley, is that - ?"

The words seem to bring Percy back to himself. His head jerks up, and he gives his employee a brisk nod. "Quite right, Higgins," he says. "That is Lucius Malfoy. He and the other two men lying on the floor intended to do some harm to this department. As you all know, I don't tolerate anything of the sort. This is a place of business, after all! Therefore, I have - er - dispatched them."

He only did one, but I let it go. Percy doesn't have many moments of glory.

**Hermione**

"I think we ought to leave," Ginny whispers as soon as Perdita's taken the baby away to change him.

"Why, for heaven's sake?" I ask. "We've only just got here."

Ginny rolls her eyes in the direction of the door.

"She's not going to do anything," I say, even though I'm not entirely sure of my facts.

"Isn't she?" Ginny says. "Anyway, it's not just that. I've got a funny sort of feeling."

"Is it the baby?" I ask, alarmed.

"Not that sort of feeling," Ginny says. "And it's not just because I'm worried about Harry, either. It feels - it feels as though we're being watched."

Honestly. "You only think so because Perdita made you nervous," I say sensibly. "You know this house is unplottable."

"Marvin goes in and out all the time," Ginny argues. "Anyone could have followed him."

"He's taken all sorts of precautions to make sure that can't happen," I remind her. "Disillusionment charms, disguises - plus, he Apparates to a few different places before he comes here, just to throw them off."

"It could still have happened," Ginny says stubbornly. "Please, Hermione, can't we go? I'm sure you're right and it's just my imagination, but I think we should leave. And I think Andromeda and Teddy and Perdita and the baby should come with us." She shudders. "Oh, I know I'm not wrong! Can't you feel it?"

I close my eyes and wait, trying to sense whatever Ginny's feeling, but there's nothing. I think it's just an overactive imagination on her part. Ginny's always been a bit dramatic, and she's even worse now that she's pregnant. Still, there's no point in having her upset.

I open my eyes and look at her. "We can all go back to Grimmauld Place if it'll make you feel better, but you'll have to do the convincing."

"I will," Ginny says, looking relieved. "Let's go right away and - "

She breaks off as the sound of a scream shatters the silence of the house. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Hermione**

Ginny and I both have our wands out. "Stay here," I whisper to her, edging closer to the door.

"I'm not letting you go alone," Ginny protests.

"You have to think of the baby," I say over my shoulder. _"Stay here."_ I ease the door open. "Perdita?" I call softly.

I can hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. Oh dear, that'll be Andromeda. I wish she'd stay put, but I can hardly blame her for investigating. "Perdita!" I hear her say. "Are you all right? What's happened?"

"I'm fine," Perdita answers. Her voice is a little shaky, but she manages to sound almost normal. "I saw a spider near the baby and panicked. It's quite all right - I Vanished it. Sorry to have given you such a fright."

"Do you believe her?" Ginny whispers from behind me.

"Not for a second," I whisper back. I listen for the sound of Andromeda's footsteps descending the stairs before I push the door open the rest of the way.

I check both ways before making my way across the landing, but the upstairs hallway is empty. "Perdita!" I say, relieved to see her in one piece. "What really happened?"

"Take him," Perdita says sharply, pushing Baby Ron into my arms. Her face is chalk white. "Take him to Ginny and then come back - alone."

I do as she asks, cautioning Ginny to keep the door closed and her wand out. "What is it?" I say, returning to Perdita's side. I try to keep my voice calm, even though I feel as though I want to scream myself.

"Promise you won't make a sound," Perdita whispers, taking my arm and leading me into the room.

I nod, my eyes following her pointing finger to the window.

Jeremy Gamp hovers impossibly, two stories above the ground. His cold eyes seem to bore into mine.

"It's not real," Perdita whispers. "He's done this before - I don't know how; it's some sort of magic I've never heard of. But you understand what this means, Hermione? It means he's tracked me down - and now none of us are safe. The real Jeremy could be anywhere - he could be just outside the door."

**Ron**

Someone's ahead of me on the stairs. As I get closer, I realize it's Draco Malfoy. Only it's really Harry - isn't it?

Draco/Harry seems to have the same idea about me. He stops dead, hand on his wand. "Favorite Quidditch team?"

"Still the Cannons, but don't let on to my sister," I say.

He grins at me, relieved. It looks odd, Malfoy having a pleasant expression on his face. Especially when he's looking at me. "What's happening on your end?" he asks.

"I froze four of them - including our cross-dressing friend - in the lift," I say. "So we'd better wind this up before people start going to lunch, or there's going to be hell to pay."

Harry laughs. "Simon, Lucius and Grigor are all out of the way, too," he says.

I blink at him, impressed. "You took out Lucius when you were disguised as his son? Nice one!"

"Actually, it was Percy," Harry says.

I hardly have time to absorb this - seriously, _Percy_? - before Harry's turned to go. "We' d better hurry," he says. "Kingsley's office - "

"No, I think it's Level Two," I argue. "That lot in the lift were in a big hurry to get there for some reason."

"You go to Two," Harry says. "I'll go to One. If there's nothing happening, I'll join you." He starts to leave; then pauses. "You'd better have a bit more Polyjuice," he tells me. "Your hair's starting to turn red."

I feel through my pockets for the little flask and take a big swallow before following him. Be nice to get this wrapped up before lunch, wouldn't it? Hermione's probably going crazy, stuck in the house all morning with nothing to do but worry about us.

**Harry**

Level One has its usual air of hushed calm as I push through the door from the stairwell. Kingsley's personal staff are all working busily as I make my way through the outer office. Hardly anyone spares me a glance until I approach his door, which is closed.

"Hello, Pandora," I say to the secretary, trying to sound casual. "Is the Minister in?"

Pandora gives me a frosty look. "May I have your name?" she inquires coldly.

Oh. Right. I'm still Malfoy. I can hardly tell her I'm Harry, so I'll just have to do the best I can. "Draco Malfoy," I say, even though I'm sure she knows it.

Pandora's eyebrows lift. "Have you an appointment, Mr. Malfoy?" she asks.

"Yes," I say brazenly.

Pandora eyes me. "The Minister said nothing whatsoever about it to me," she says. "I have his schedule right here." She taps a small book in front of her, although she makes no move to open it.

"Maybe he forgot to tell you," I offer.

"I doubt that," Pandora says. "In any event, the Minister is unable to see you this morning. He's entertaining some foreign dignitaries, as you'd well know if you'd bothered to read the newspaper this morning."

That explains why I couldn't get in touch with Kingsley last night. "I've got to see him," I say desperately. "It's important."

"I shall tell him you were here," Pandora says. "Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."

I take a step forward, judging the distance between her and Kingsley's door. I'd hate to Stun her, but -

"Everything all right, Pandora?" someone says from behind me.

I turn to see a rather large wizard from the outer office. He gives me a menacing look and moves closer, hand ostentatiously on his wand. Three others are starting to get up from their desks.

Bloody hell - I can't take them all on. There are at least a dozen people in that room. "I'm leaving," I say quickly. At least I can take some comfort in the thought that Kingsley's extremely well-protected.

"Listen to me, all of you," I say, once I'm safely through the outer office. "Don't let anyone in here - do you understand? Not anyone, no matter who they say they are. It's a matter of life and death."

A dozen pairs of startled eyes are on me as I push the door to the stairwell open again and hurry back through.

**Hermione**

Perdita really knows a good deal more about this sort of thing than I do, but she doesn't seem to be thinking clearly.

"My baby," she whispers. "He's not getting my baby!"

"Of course he isn't," I say firmly. I put an arm around her and urge her from the room, closing the door on Jeremy's horrible leer. "We're leaving - right now. All of us."

"Hermione?" Ginny says from the opposite room. "What's happening?"

She sounds frightened, but I can count on Ginny to stay calm. "We need to leave immediately," I say, opening the door. "Jeremy Gamp has found out where Perdita's hiding. And I don't think we ought to go to Grimmauld Place. Jeremy may very well have spies in the Department of Magical Transportation. They could have traced us this morning - we used the Floo Network to come here."

"Grimmauld Place isn't properly connected to the Network," Ginny protests. "They can't have known."

I don't see how they can have, either, but I don't dare to chance it. "Where else can we go?" I ask her. "Think fast - we haven't much time. It's got to be someplace completely safe."

"Like Hogwarts?" Ginny offers.

"Perfect," I say, relieved. "Take Perdita and the baby and go straight to Aberforth's. It'll be faster than waiting about by the gate to be let in. I'll fetch Andromeda and Teddy and we'll- "

"I'm not going with you," Perdita says.

I turn to her in dismay. "You can't mean to stay here," I protest.

"I'm not hiding from Jeremy for the rest of my life," Perdita says implacably. "This ends right here."

Oh, for heaven's sake. I suppose that means I'll have to stay with her. I can't leave her on her own to face Jeremy. "Fine," I say, trying to hide my exasperation. "Ginny, can you manage the other three on your own?"

Ginny stares at me, wide-eyed. "Hermione, you can't - " she starts.

"We'll be along soon," I assure her. "Please, Ginny! Teddy's here - and the baby - "

"If you're not at Aberforth's in exactly half an hour I'm coming back for you," Ginny threatens. "I'll do worse than that - I'll send for Harry!"

"Make it an hour, and I promise we'll be there," I say desperately. "Just go!"

I'm relieved when they've gone, but the silence in the house is oppressive. Perdita stares unseeingly out the drawing room window, while I pace nervously, waiting.

"Ginny meant what she said, you know," I venture finally.

"It won't be long now," Perdita says, not turning around. "He's here already. I can feel it. We're twins, you know. They say twins have a sort of bond, don't they?"

I can't think of anything to say to this. Perdita turns finally and gives me a faint smile. "You needn't have stayed, you know," she says. "In fact, I wish you wouldn't. Ron would never forgive me if anything happened to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," I say, wishing I believed my own words. "He's not interested in me."

"No, but he wouldn't blink at killing you to get you out of the way," Perdita says matter-of-factly. "He's not exactly over-fond of Muggle-borns, remember?"

Right. "Maybe I ought to disguise myself," I say, feeling a bit desperate. "I could be Swanhilda again, or - " I break off in mid-sentence and look at her. "Or I could be the one person Jeremy doesn't want to kill," I say slowly. "I could be you, Perdita."

Perdita's mouth drops open. "No," she says.

"Yes," I say, pressing my advantage. "I've even got some Polyjuice in my bag - Ron left little flasks of it all over the place when he was being Harris." I rummage for a minute, pulling the little bottle out triumphantly. (Fortunately, Ron hadn't dropped any Harris hair into it yet.) "Well, Perdita? It's quite a good idea, actually. We can confuse him by being in two places at once - he won't know who's who."

"You'd have made a good Auror," Perdita says, pulling her hand through her short blonde hair and then holding it out to me. "And someday I'd like to know who Swanhilda and Harris are, because it sounds like a very interesting story."

"I'll tell it to you when we're safe at Hogwarts," I say, dropping the strands of hair into the flask.

**Ron**

There was something different about that last dose of Polyjuice, but I'm in such a hurry that I don't quite realize it until I notice I'm short of breath. Oh, bloody hell - I've taken the wrong one. Now I'm Harris. I'll just have to take another dose of Basil on top of this one and wait here until it takes effect. I think of what Hermione would say if she knew I was transforming into two different people within five minutes - and then I decide not to think about that anymore. There are some things Hermione doesn't need to know.

I'm looking around for a good place to hide while I transform when I see Draco Malfoy (only it's Harry, of course) emerging from the stairwell. He looks like he wants to laugh when he sees me. "What did you do, grab the wrong one?" he asks. "Er, it _is_ you, isn't it?"

"Course it's me," I say. "Who else would want to be this prat?"

Harry looks around carefully and then motions me into the deserted Auror Department. "I couldn't get anywhere near Kingsley," he tells me. "I tried, but Pandora wasn't about to let Draco Malfoy in to see him."

"Just as well, really," I say philosophically. "Kingsley's not going to be pleased when he finds out we didn't clear the Ministry when we knew what was planned for today."

"You had to remind me," Harry says with a groan.

"It would've ruined everything if we'd done it that way," I point out. "Canceling Visitor's Day and sending people home would've made the Brotherhood suspicious. Kingsley's an ex-Auror - he's bound to see it our way." Or not, but it's too late now.

Harry looks a bit more hopeful. "Anyway, it's nearly over and no one's been hurt," he says. "In fact, it's been almost too easy."

I thought that myself, but I didn't like to say so. "They've got something else planned," I agree. "Only we don't know what, except that it must be going to happen on Level Two because Adrian was so determined to get here. Shame Kirilov's been arrested - he's one of the only people Adrian trusts. Now if we could - why are you staring at me like that? Don't tell me I'm turning into someone else?"

"No," Harry says. "I think you've turned into exactly the person we need." He grins at me. "What do you say - want to help that lot escape from the lift?"

Five minutes later, I'm taking the spell off the lift. I duck around the corner as it grinds to a halt on Level Two.

One of the Bulgarians peers out first, his face suspicious. He says something I can't understand, but it sounds a lot like he's telling the others to get out.

Apparently he is, because they do. Adrian's last. He swears under his breath as he trips over his Etilka robes.

I take a few steps forward. "Etilka!" I whisper. "This way!"

Two of them point their wands at me, but Adrian waves them away. He hisses something in Bulgarian and they subside. "Harris?" he says, forgetting his Bulgarian accent in his astonishment. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, of course," I say. "The lifts here are terrible - they're always breaking down. Were you stuck long?"

"It vas not broken," Adrian says, remembering his accent this time. "It vas a spell. Somevun is trying to stop us!"

"Oh, I doubt that," I say cheerfully. "One of the Magical Maintenance blokes told me they'd been having trouble with this one for weeks. They're working on it from upstairs, but I thought my way was quicker. It's nothing much - just a little charm I picked up a few years ago."

Personally, I think I'd still be suspicious, but Adrian's got more important things on his mind. "Vhat are you doing here?" he repeats. "You are following me?"

"Not following, because I didn't know where you'd gone, did I?" I say. "But I remembered enough about the plan to know you'd end up in the Ministry sooner or later, so I've been coming here every day. They've got quite a good Café - you must try the soup. It's much better than that awful _borscht_ you lot served at Durm-"

"Qviet!" Adrian snaps, looking around nervously. "Anyvun could overhear."

Bit late for that, isn't it? But I nod like he's making perfect sense. "Yes, you'd best not be found on this floor," I tell him. "This is where the Auror Department is, you know."

"Ve are knowing this already," one of the Bulgarians pipes up. "This is vhy ve - "

Adrian silences him with a look.

"Look here, Etilka, what've you got planned?" I demand, moving closer. "You might let me in on it. I can help, you know. I know my way around in here rather well after the past few days."

Adrian's silent for a moment, thinking. He turns abruptly and says something to the others in Bulgarian. It must have been something like "go see who else is around," because they all go scurrying off in different directions. It's not going to make it easy on Harry, having to track them all down, but at least he's got the Invisibility Cloak.

Adrian waits till they're all out of earshot before speaking again.

"As you are familiar vith the Ministry, perhaps you can be of use," he says softly. "You are knowing, perhaps, vhere is the office in vhich sits Harry Potter?"

**Harry**

They _would_ all go in different directions. I only hesitate for a second before trotting off after the first one. He's headed toward a room that says "Wizengamut Administrative Services". Hermione does quite a lot of work for them. Thinking of her - and what Ron would say if he caught a Brotherhood member anywhere near a desk she might have used once - inspires me to Stun him before he's even lifted his hand to the closed door. I manage to catch him with a Hover Charm before he goes crashing loudly into it.

That's one down. I look around helplessly for a minute before sending him floating toward the stairwell. Now that the lift's fixed, the stairs shouldn't be crowded. I hope.

The next one's even easier to dispatch, as he's simply standing in the middle of the corridor with a blank expression on his face. Right - two down. I hear footsteps and take up a position against the wall, wand out.

Well, if it isn't our old friend Axel. I'm about to Stun him when I realize I might be able to put him to better use.

I hastily pull off the Cloak and stuff it in my pocket. "Here, you!" I whisper.

Axel starts, then turns, wand out.

"It's Axel, isn't it?" I say in a low voice. "I remember you from one of the meetings. I'm Draco Malfoy."

Axel may not recognize Malfoy's face, but his reaction to the name is unmistakable. "You are vith us, then?" he whispers, letting his wand drop to his side.

"What's happening?" I ask, drawing closer to him. "Where is everyone? I thought we were all supposed to meet up on Level One, but I've just been and there's no one there."

Axel looks briefly confused. "I am knowing only vhat ve are told in meeting," he says. "Most peoples are to go to Level Vun, and some - only some - vill go first to Level Two." He eyes me suspiciously. "How you are knowing to come here?"

"I didn't," I say impatiently. "When I couldn't find anyone on Level One, I decided to check all the floors till I found someone who knew what was going on. Clearly, that isn't you." I give him a disgusted look. "Who else is with you?"

Axel reels off a couple of incomprehensible names - likely the two I've just chucked in the stairwell - before adding, "- and Etilka Varga."

"And are any of them any brighter than you are?" I say coldly. "Maybe one of them can tell me what we're supposed to be doing on Level Two."

Axel turns red. "I am very intelligent, me!" he protests. "I am spy at Ministry, am I not? Is not job for stupid person! I am knowing _everything_ about plan!"

I eye him skeptically. "Really?" I say, managing to convey just the right amount of amused disbelief into my voice.

"I vill prove it," Axel hisses. "Ve come here first to kill Harry Potter. Then ve join the others to kill Minister of Magic and take over English Ministry."

Well, I can't say I was expecting that. You'd think I'd be used to being the object of death threats, but I've sort of gotten out of the habit over the past several years. I don't think anyone's wanted to kill me for ages. "How interesting," I say. "It's certainly a good thing I ran into you."

**Hermione**

Perdita and I are staring rather helplessly at each other when the tapping starts. First it's at the window; then at the French doors that lead into the garden. But when we look, there's no one there.

"Kid stuff," Perdita says briefly, but her voice isn't quite steady. "He's trying to frighten me." She looks around thoughtfully. "I don't like this room - there're too many ways he can get in."

"We don't want to be trapped with no way to get out, either," I say, managing to keep my own voice from shaking. My hands, I notice, aren't quite as steady. I drop my wand arm to my side before Perdita sees. "Maybe we ought to go out into the garden."

"I want to trap him," Perdita says calmly. "If we're outside, he can Disapparate."

That would be rather a nice option for us to have for ourselves, but I don't say so. "Where, then?" I say instead. "Not upstairs." _Not anyplace where I might have to jump out of a window to get away._

"The library," Perdita decides. "There's only one set of windows."

I follow her there, inwardly thankful that she hasn't suggested splitting up to confuse him further.

"You wait in here," Perdita tells me pausing on the library threshold. "I'm going to try to lure him in."

She's gone before I can protest. I flatten myself against the wall, one eye on the door and one on the window. If Jeremy Gamp so much as shows his face, I'm going to hit him with everything I've got. Beyond that, I haven't much of a plan.

I risk a quick glance at my watch, stunned to see that less than twenty minutes of Ginny's hour has passed.

"Well, if it isn't my dear sister," a voice says softly.

I look around wildly, but I can't see anyone. "Jeremy?" I say, raising my voice so that Perdita will be sure to hear me. "Is that you? Where are you?"

Jeremy Gamp suddenly appears in the doorway. "Hello, twin," he says mockingly. "Have you missed me?"

I throw a Stunning Spell at him, but it simply goes straight through him. "Hello, twin," the voice says from behind me.

Another Jeremy Gamp has materialized by the window. As I send another curse flying at him, two more appear by the bookshelves.

They're not real, then - or are they? Is the real Jeremy hiding somewhere, waiting for me to tire - or is he one of these?

I lose my head a bit and begin firing curses rather randomly. None of the Jeremys even bother to step aside, although several more appear in various places around the room. I glance desperately at the doorway, but it's still blocked by the first Jeremy. It might not be real, but I'm not at all sure it'll let me pass.

I hear footsteps overhead. _He's up there._

"What do you want, Jeremy?" Perdita says sharply from the direction of the staircase.

I've got to help her. I gather all my courage and take a few steps toward the door. The Jeremys immediately encircle me, their cold, dead eyes boring into mine. None of them makes a move to touch me, though. "They aren't real," I whisper to myself.

I can hear the other two quite clearly now. They sound as though they're on the stair landing.

"Oh, relax, Perdita," a man's voice says coolly. "I only wanted to talk to you. I must say, you're not exactly welcoming."

"Did you expect a warm welcome?" Perdita retorts. I'm amazed at the calmness of her voice. "I think all the family's made their feelings toward me rather clear."

"So have you," Jeremy answers. "But it's different with us, Perdita. We're twins. It's always been different with us."

The words in themselves are warm - even loving - but the tone of his voice tells a different story.

"What do you want?" Perdita repeats.

Jeremy's silent for a moment. "I just want to spend a little time with you," he says finally. "Get to know my nephew… is that too much to ask?"

"Why, so you can turn him into one of you?" Perdita snaps. "I'm warning you, Jeremy, if you go near my child, I'll kill you myself." At this moment, she sounds quite capable of it.

Jeremy's answer, when it comes, is so soft that I involuntarily take a few steps closer to the doorway to hear it. "All right, Perdita," he says. "No more games. Give me the baby and I'll leave you in peace."

I don't believe him. He must know he'd have to kill her to get to the child.

"You're insane," Perdita says disbelievingly. "Do you honestly think I'd - "

"He's a Gamp," Jeremy interrupts. "Half Gamp, anyway. You mustn't think I mind about that - nearly all of the so-called purebloods have a streak of Mudblood somewhere. The trick is to bring them up properly and then to eradicate it by having them make a pureblood marriage. In another few generations, it'll all be forgotten." He pauses before adding, "As will you and your Mudblood husband, unfortunately."

There's a bang and then a crash, as though something's just shattered into a thousand pieces.

"That's seven years bad luck," Perdita says tauntingly. It must have been the mirror on the wall behind the staircase. I hear her footsteps race up the stairs. "Better get out of here, Jeremy."

"Is he upstairs?" Jeremy shouts. "Is that where he is? You don't really think you can stop me, do you, Perdita?" His feet thunder up the stairs after her.

The sound brings me to myself. "Shoo!" I hiss at the Jeremys. They edge closer, but I shut my eyes and press forward. None makes a move to stop me, but they follow closely behind me as I race into the hall and up the first flight of stairs. I nearly dislodge a piece of broken glass on the landing and have to force myself to slow down and move carefully. I don't want Jeremy to know anyone else is in the house - I'll never be able to take him off guard that way.

I can hear them far above me - they must be in the attic. I tiptoe up the stairs, trailed by an army of Jeremys. "_Evanesco_," I whisper hopefully, but it has no effect.

"I didn't want it to be this way," I hear Jeremy saying. "You wouldn't listen, Perdita. I told you, didn't I? I said I wouldn't have a blood traitor for a sister. You must have known it would come to this. You didn't ever listen to me. Why, Perdita? _Why didn't you listen?_"

His voice rises to a scream on the last words. It brings me to a full stop, two stairs from the top of the flight. I flatten myself against the wall, trying to catch my breath. If I can sneak up on him, maybe…

"I thought you didn't want to play," Jeremy says suddenly. He sounds completely relaxed suddenly, like he hasn't just been trying to kill his twin sister. "Are you hiding from me? We haven't played this game in years. I could always find you, Perdita, don't you remember? You could never hide from me for long. I'll find you. And when I've finished with you, I'll go after your Mudblood husband. Your poor little son will be an orphan. Lucky for him, Uncle Jeremy is ready to step in." His voice rises. "Stop hiding, Perdita! You know I hate it when you hide from me!"

"Come and find me, then!" Perdita shrieks back.

"I see you!" Jeremy's voice is triumphant now. "You're over there behind that trunk." There's a flash of green light and another smash.

"I'm not," I say quietly. "I'm right behind you."

Jeremy wheels round, looking startled.

_"Stupefy!"_ Perdita shouts.

Jeremy dodges the spell - but it causes him to lose his balance. He clutches wildly at the banister, but misses. I jump out of the way as he falls heavily past me down the stairs. There's a thud as he hits the landing - then nothing.

The Jeremys around me suddenly vanish. I lean over the banister, trying to see. Jeremy's lying face-down in a crumpled heap on the landing. A pool of blood is spreading from underneath his head.

"Hermione," Perdita says from the attic doorway. "Is he - "

"I'm not sure," I say. "I think so." I move to her side. "Are you all right?"

"He tried to kill me," Perdita says, almost in wonder. "I never thought he really would, in the end - but he tried twice with the _Avada Kedavra_." She moves to my side and looks down, then shudders. "I can't," she says helplessly. "I ought to - but I just can't. My knees feel so odd, all of a sudden."

"I'll go," I say quickly. I take her arm, urging her away from the view below. "Sit down here on this top step and wait for me."

I ease down the stairs, wand at the ready - but there's no need. A quick glance is enough to tell me that Jeremy Gamp is never going to terrorize his sister - or anyone else - again.

"He's dead," I confirm, returning to Perdita's side. "Take some deep breaths - you're going to be all right."

"I want Marvin," Perdita says simply. Her ice-cold fingers clutch at my arm. "Get him for me, Hermione?"

Marvin arrives minutes after I've sent the message. I have to turn away as he gathers Perdita into his arms, holding her close. I want my own husband - and who knows what sort of danger he's facing at the moment?

**Ron**

Really, they're making it almost too easy for us. "It's this way," I tell Adrian, leading him toward the deserted Auror Department. "Potter's office is that one - he's running things just now."

"Yes, ve are knowing that already," Adrian says. I don't quite like the look on his face. How much does he know about Gawain going missing?

"What happened to old Robards, anyway?" I ask casually. "No one's seen him for weeks. He's supposed to be on holiday or something, but he never takes this much time off."

"Robards is a fool," Adrian says shortly. "Even ve vould not have attempted to - but is not important." He looks around. "Is no vun here - is good."

"It's quite often empty during the day," I tell him. "They must not be expecting any trouble. Potter's in there, though - I saw him go in about an hour ago, and he hasn't come out."

Adrian's eyes light up, and I have no trouble figuring out what's going through his mind. He wants to be the one to do it - alone. "You vait here," he orders, pointing me to a corner next to a filing cabinet. "Vatch and be sure that no vun comes."

I nod obediently. "Off you go, then," I say encouragingly.

I watch with interest as Adrian strides boldly over to Harry's office and kicks the door open. I've never actually seen this charm in action, although I've heard plenty about it. I edge a little bit closer.

I'm not disappointed by what happens next. There's a strangled scream from Adrian, followed by silence. I flatten myself against the opposite wall so he can't see me and peer cautiously in.

Adrian, bound head to foot with silver ropes, is lying in the middle of the floor like a trussed chicken. His wand floats in midair, tauntingly out of reach.

"_Accio_ wand," I say, moving into the doorway.

"Harris," Adrian says hoarsely. "It's some sort of trap. My wand - "

"Got it, thanks," I say, tucking it neatly into my inside pocket.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Adrian hisses.

"You've forgotten your accent again, Pucey," I say, wagging a finger at him.

Adrian's jaw drops open. "Who is this Pucey?" he says in his Etilka voice, trying to brazen it out.

"Nice try," I tell him. "But honestly, aren't you tired of trying to look like a woman? It always seemed like a lot of extra work to me - it takes my wife twice as long as it does me to get ready in the mornings."

Adrian's eyes narrow. "Who are you?" he demands.

I look down at myself, realizing that my Harris disguise is wearing off. Not that it matters now, I suppose.

"I recognize you," Adrian says. He stares at me, almost in disbelief. "You're Weasley! And your wife is a - "

"A Muggle-born, yes," I say, grinning at him. "Although you might know her better as Professor Dumont, the Divination teacher."

Really, it was worth all those months at Durmstrang just to see the look on his face.

**Harry**

Ron's leaning against the wall outside my office door when I arrive. "Oh, hello," he says casually. "I've got Pucey in there if you're interested."

"Gawain's Anti-Intruder Jinx," I say, nodding. "I've never actually seen it in action before, but he always assured me it was still in working order."

"Oh, it was," Ron assures me with a grin. "Have a look, why don't you?"

I move to the doorway and look in. "I didn't realize it knocked people out, too," I say.

"It doesn't," Ron says. "I did that bit myself." He looks past me at the silent corridor. "You handled the others, then?"

"They're in the stairwell," I say. "We had most of the team working the exits, so I expect the Brotherhood have all been rounded up by now. I should be hearing from Jackson and O'Connor any min-"

I break off in mid-sentence. Something silvery is hovering at the end of the corridor.

"That's one of them now," Ron says.

I look closer. "No, it's Ginny," I say. I can't keep a note of anxiety from creeping into my voice as I add, "I hope nothing's wrong." Ginny wouldn't have interrupted me in the middle of a battle (at least, we _thought_ it was going to be a battle) unless it was really urgent. "Come on," I say, beckoning to the hovering Patronus. "It's all right."

"I never knew you could train them to hold off," Ron says with interest, but I don't answer.

"Harry, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt you, but _he's_ found where _she's_ hidden," Ginny's voice says. "Swanhilda's there with them - I took the others to the safest place I could think of. I really think you'd better send someone there straight away."

Ron and I stare at each other. I have no trouble interpreting Ginny's code. "Gamp's found Perdita," I say grimly.

"Swanhilda," Ron says, turning white. "Oh, damn it, Hermione!"

"She couldn't have known," I point out. "Come on - we'd better hurry."

"Right," Ron says, gathering himself together. "I'll go straight to Andromeda's while you - "

"You can't just go tearing in there without a plan," I say. "It sounds like Ginny brought the others to Hogwarts - I think we'd better go there first and find out all we can before we - "

"There's no time to go messing about at Hogwarts," Ron says impatiently. "Let me have the Cloak - I'll just go to Andromeda's and you can meet me there."

Ginny's second Patronus arrives before I have a chance to argue with him. "Never mind, they're all right," she says breathlessly. "They're on their way here. I really think we'd all just better stay where we are until you come for us."

"There, you see?" Ron says, although it seems to me it proved my point better than his. "You don't still need me here, do you, Harry?"

He's hurrying down the corridor before I manage to answer him. "No," I say to his back. "I don't need you at all."

That means Gamp's still at large, though. And what about Caradoc Dearborn? He must be directing operations from somewhere - but where?

I hurry after Ron, firing off several Patronuses as I go. Jackson and O'Connor can manage things from this end. At this point, it's mostly just a matter of alerting Azkaban to expect a rather large party to arrive.

I arrive in Hogsmeade five minutes later. I emerge from an alley just in time to see Ron kissing his wife in the middle of the street, completely oblivious to the fact that a number of people are watching them with amused expressions. A photographer I recognize from one of the more unsavory tabloids is blissfully snapping pictures.

"Ron!" I call.

"Don't do that," the photographer protests, giving me an annoyed look. "Know who that is? That's Ron Weasley, that's who - and that there's his wife what everybody thought he went off and left! These pictures'll be worth a fair bit, I reckon!" He snaps another before turning to stare at me, mouth hanging open. "Here! Know who _you_ are? You're Harry Potter!"

"No, I'm not," I say quickly. Damn - my Polyjuice must have worn off. "Ron!" I yell again, more loudly. "Hermione! Come on!"

The two of them break apart finally and join me. Hermione hugs me quickly. "It's all right, Gamp's dead," she whispers.

"Maybe we'd better continue this conversation somewhere else," I say, nodding at the photographer. Ron scowls in his direction, and the photographer immediately turns on the spot and Disapparates.

"That'll be in every paper in England by tomorrow morning," I can't help saying.

"Well, so what?" Hermione says recklessly, slipping her hand into Ron's. "Now that it's finished - it _is_ finished, isn't it?"

Ron and I look at each other. "Sort of," I say guardedly. "Where are the others?"

We've reached the Hog's Head by now. "In here," Hermione says, starting for the door. "Andromeda and Teddy are at Hogwarts with the baby, but Ginny, Marvin and Perdita are all in here." She looks back at me. "Why isn't it finished, Harry? Didn't they try to attack the Ministry today?"

_If you want to call it an attack,_ I think to myself. I can't help wondering if the whole thing was staged to distract us from something far more destructive. "Inside," I say, nodding at the door to the pub. "I'm not saying another word till we're off the street."

**Hermione**

"What did Harry mean by saying it's 'sort of' finished?" I whisper to Ron, the second the door of the Hog's Head has closed behind us.

Everyone's heading up the stairs to Aberforth's private sitting room, but Ron draws me aside for a moment. He looks around before answering. "Because it was too damned easy, that's what," he says in my ear. "And we still don't know where Dearborn is." His arm tightens around me. "What happened with Gamp, anyway?" he asks. "He didn't hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," I say. "He was after Perdita, not me." It's rather a long story, and it isn't going to help us now, but I can tell by Ron's expression that he isn't going to let me off this easily. "He'd chased her up the stairs, and then he broke that big mirror on the landing trying to curse her… Perdita was hiding, trying to trap him, so I sneaked up behind him and when he saw a second Perdita behind him - well, he sort of lost his concentration and then Perdita tried to Stun him and he lost his balance and fell down the stairs."

Marvin told us that the fall itself wouldn't have killed Jeremy - he landed on a big shard of glass from the mirror and it cut his throat. It made me feel rather ill when he said it, but I'm glad for Perdita. She won't have to go her whole life thinking she killed her brother - even if it was self-defense.

"What do you mean, a second Perdita?" Ron says, effortlessly zeroing in on the one thing I'd hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Polyjuice," I admit. "We were trying to confuse him."

Ron says several things that make me glad Teddy's safe at Hogwarts where he can't overhear, but he pulls me even closer.

"You're going to have to stop swearing so much before we start having our own children," I tell him sternly.

Ron ignores this. It isn't exactly the first time I've said it. "How did Gamp know how to find Perdita?" he asks, frowning. "Did he say?"

I shake my head. "Maybe Perdita's figured it out," I offer. "She knows more about that sort of thing than I do."

Ron grins at me. "Not still mad at me, is she?"

"She never was," I say firmly, pulling him in the direction of the stairs. "Come on, let's go and see her."

Perdita throws her arms around Ron as soon as we walk in, which dispels any lingering worries he might have had. (Honestly, she named her baby after him - what more proof does he need?) "Where _were_ you?" she demands, taking a step back to look at him. "Hermione said something about Polyjuice?"

Ron looks at Harry, who nods.

"You're looking at the Durmstrang Chess Master," he tells Perdita. "Rodney Harris - pureblood and pretended Brotherhood sympathizer."

Perdita starts to laugh. "I'll bet you hated the food there!" she says unsympathetically.

"Don't get him started on it," I say hastily.

"Rodney Harris," Marvin says thoughtfully, coming over to shake Ron's hand. "He's a real person, isn't he? I'm sure I've read one or two of his books."

"Er," Ron says, looking at Harry again. "S'pose so."

Goodness, where _is_ Harris, I wonder? Only Gawain knows, according to Ron. Wherever he is, I hope he's comfortable because we may not be getting round to him for a while.

"We need to go over what happened today at the Ministry," Harry interrupts. He looks at Perdita. "Are you with us? It's quite all right if you're not ready, only - " His voice trails off uncertainly. "Maybe you'd rather go to Hogwarts and fetch your baby," he adds quickly.

"Couldn't we all go to Hogwarts?" Ginny asks. "It's safer to talk there than here - no offense, Aberforth, but you do get rather an odd crowd sometimes."

Harry's on his feet. "All right?" he asks Aberforth, who grunts and nods.

Adriana's portrait smiles and beckons to us form her spot over the fireplace. "Is it all right if we're _us_, do you think?" I whisper to Ron.

He shrugs. "We're going to be on the front page tomorrow anyway, according to Harry," he points out.

**Harry**

Perdita and Marvin immediately depart in search of Andromeda and the kids while the rest of us settle in the Room of Requirement.

"Ask the Room for something to eat," Ginny whispers to me. "I'm starving and I didn't want to eat anything from the Hog's Head."

"So that's why you wanted to come here," I say, grinning at her. The quality of Ab's menu has degenerated quite a bit since Winky came to live at Grimmauld Place. Ginny's words make me realize I could do with something myself. "Room, could we have something to eat, please?" I ask hesitantly.

I'm never quite sure if I'm doing it right, but apparently I managed this time. The spread that appears in front of us is enough to please even Ginny.

"Harry, I don't think any of them ought to go back to Andromeda's house," Hermione says, ignoring the food in front of her. "Not until we know how Jeremy found us."

He almost certainly tracked Marvin, but I don't say so. Anyway, she's quite right - Jeremy might have mentioned his destination to the others, and it's possible that one of them could come looking to see why he hasn't returned. "They can come home with us," I say, a little doubtfully. I'm not entirely sure that Andromeda would want to come and stay in a house that holds so many bad memories for her. She's always seemed uncomfortable on the few occasions that I've talked her into coming for dinner.

"I think Professor McGonagall would be quite willing to have Andromeda and Teddy stay here for a few days," Ginny says, squeezing my hand under the table.

"Good," I say. "Hermione can ask her."

Hermione rolls her eyes at me, but she finally starts eating. "I can't stay here long," I say, more to Ron than the others. "The Ministry - "

"They'll be all right for a bit longer, won't they?" Ron says, waving a fork at me. "I wanted to see some of the kids from Durmstrang while we're here."

"There are still about a dozen people Stunned and locked up in cupboards," I remind him. "Including your good friend Basil Sedgewick."

I can tell from Ron's expression that this had totally slipped his mind. "I hadn't forgotten," he says unconvincingly. "But Jackson and the others can wipe their memories and revive them without us."

"In case you'd forgotten, we suspected most of them of being in league with the Brotherhood," I say patiently.

"Basil isn't," Ron says immediately. "He's just a git."

Right. Good to know.

"The Durmstrang students aren't going to know who you are, anyway," Hermione's saying to Ron. "They only knew you as Professor Harris."

Ron looks disappointed. "I'd forgotten that," he admits. "I suppose I can't tell them yet."

"Once we've finished this off, you can come and take the whole lot of them to Hogsmeade for the day and tell your story to everyone in the Three Broomsticks, but I'd just as soon you didn't let it slip just yet," I say. "We may need Harris one more time."

Ron and Hermione exchange a look, but neither of them says anything to this. Perdita and Marvin return with the baby while I'm still wondering what our next step should be, and Ginny immediately issues an invitation to stay at Grimmauld Place for the duration.

"It'll give me a chance to practice with the baby," she says, holding out her arms for him.

I slip my own arm around Ginny's shoulders. I think it took about ten years off my life when I found out how close Gamp got to her this morning. "Practice in the house, all right?" I say. "At least until all this is over."

"Tell me about what was happening on your end," Perdita urges, reaching for a sandwich.

Ron and I take turns filling her in. "Too easy," Perdita says, once we've finished.

"That's what we think, too," I admit. "Where was Dearborn, for one thing?"

"And why didn't they try to get to any of the Ministry people we thought they were working with?" Ron adds. "Why the hell didn't they put up more of a fight?"

"Because no one was telling them what to do," Hermione says.

"Etilka was there," Ron points out. "Adrian, I mean. He's not in charge, but I think he's pretty high up. I tried to feel him out about Gawain, and he said something about how even they wouldn't have dared to do - whatever it is he's done."

"Gawain?" Perdita says, but no one answers.

"Yes, but Jeremy was at Andromeda's house, and Dearborn was - well, wherever he is," Hermione's saying. "I think they were waiting for one of them to show up and take charge."

"Who's Dearborn?" Perdita asks, puzzled. "The name seems familiar."

I can't wait any longer. "Fill her in," I say to Ron. "I'm off. We've got lots of people to question."

Ron starts to get up, but I wave him back to his seat. "If Etilka - I mean Adrian - knew something about Gawain, it might just be common knowledge at Durmstrang," I say. "It was one of those kids who put you on to the vampires in the first place, wasn't it?"

Ron beams at me. "Anya's awfully clever for her age - if there's anything to be known, she'll know it," he says. "Will I have a word with her, then?"

"Only her," I say. "And I suppose you're going to have to tell her who you really are. You're sure you can trust her?"

"Absolutely," Ron says indignantly. "She's a lot like Hermione was at her age."

I catch Perdita's eye and grin. "Oh, well in that case," I say. "I'll check in with you in the mirror in an hour."

I kiss Ginny and head back through the passage. I'll have to go and straighten things out at the Ministry first - and I can't help hoping Kingsley's still preoccupied with his foreign dignitaries - but then I want to have a little chat with Draco Malfoy. I'm hoping there's a good deal more he can tell me about his time in New Zealand.

**Ron**

"You'd better let me go and fetch Professor McGonagall for you," Ginny says to me, once Harry's gone. "Lessons will be out soon, and we don't want anyone spotting you in the corridors."

I don't see what difference it makes now, except that it might take us longer to get to McGonagall's office, but I don't mind waiting here. I could do with another sandwich.

"I'll send her a Patronus," Hermione says. "Ginny, maybe you'd better take the others back to Grimmauld Place now. We can ask Professor McGonagall to bring Anya in here."

I don't think Harry meant for Hermione to stay with me, but I'd just as soon keep her where I can see her. I'll bring her back to Grimmauld Place myself when we've finished here.

"You'd better go back through Aberforth's," I say to Ginny. "Plenty of people saw us go in, so they'll notice if we don't come out."

Ginny grins at me. "What do you want me to tell them if they ask where you and Hermione are?" she asks.

I grin back. "Tell 'em we took a room at the Hog's Head," I suggest.

Hermione rolls her eyes at me as she takes out her wand. "Honestly," she says, under her breath.

McGonagall doesn't waste any time when she gets here. "I shall bring her here at once," she promises. "And yes, of course Andromeda and Teddy are welcome to spend a few days with us. Teddy's quite taken to the place already. When I last saw him, he was riding on Hagrid's shoulder and clamoring to see a Quidditch practice."

Good old Hagrid. Teddy's safe enough, then. "Don't say anything to Anya," I warn McGonagall. "I want to tell her myself."

"In any case, I shouldn't have any idea how to begin," McGonagall says crisply. She pauses on her way out the door. "I should just like to say that it's very good indeed to see the pair of you," she says brusquely. She's gone before we can answer.

"You'd better keep back and let me explain at first," I say to Hermione. "It might take a while for her to understand."

Hermione nods and withdraws to the far side of the room. "I'll let you handle it," she says. She sounds almost like she's amused for some reason, but I can't think why.

Anya's peeking around the side of the door less than five minutes later. Her eyes widen at the sight of me. "I am knowing you," she says breathlessly. "You are Ron Veasley, are you not?"

"Yeah, I am," I say. "And I'm not sure exactly how to explain this, Anya, but you've known me for a lot longer than you think you have. Since September, actually."

Anya beams at me. "I am guessing right, then," she says happily. "You are also my Professor Harris, yes?"

Didn't I say she was like Hermione? I exchange a stunned look with my wife. "How'd you know?" I manage after a minute.

"I am vundering about it ever since you are turning into the English man when ve are escaping," Anya explains. "I am thinking that if you could be him so easily, you could also be somevun else, perhaps, and not just a professor of Chess, although you vere a very good vun, of course. And then I am vundering who, so I am asking Hagrid who vere students who vere very good at chess and perhaps also very brave. And he is saying no vun could ever beat Ron Veasley at chess vhen he vas a boy… and then I am remembering that Professor Harris also vas very fond of Qvidditch, and I am seeing your name on the Qvidditch Cup… and I am not sure, but I vunder. So I ask Hagrid about you, and he tells me many tales, and still I am not sure, but I make up my mind I vill ask vhen next I see you. And now I am right, yes?"

"Yes," I admit. I don't seem to be capable of saying anything more at the moment.

"And did you also guess about me?" Hermione asks. She definitely sounds amused this time.

Anya notices her for the first time. "You are Hermione Granger," she whispers in an awed voice. "I am starting to collect the cards of the Chocolate Frog and you are on my first vun!"

"Hermione _Weasley_," I say, but neither of them is paying me any mind.

"I was also your Divination teacher for a short time," Hermione tells Anya.

"_That_ I am not guessing," Anya says frankly. "But I vould have tried harder in Divination if I had known."

Hermione laughs. "I'll tell you a secret," she says. "I think Divination's complete nonsense."

Anya looks relieved. "So now you have left Durmstrang, yes?" she says. "You have saved us - the half-bloods - and now you can come home. Only I am not understanding vhy ve are staying so long at Hogvarts - or vhy you had to go back, unless it vas to arrest Professor Kirilov, who is a very bad man, is he not?"

"He's been arrested," I say, opting for the short version. "All of the bad people are gone, and I think if you went back to Durmstrang now you'd find it a very different place."

"I am not really vishing to go back," Anya says thoughtfully. "I am liking Hogvarts very much. Is all right if you vant to arrest more people and leave me here."

"We haven't come to take you back to Durmstrang," I assure her. "Anya, we need your help with something."

Anya's eyes widen. "Ron Veasley and Hermione Granger are needing _my_ help?" she says incredulously.

I let the "Granger" go this time. "I think you're the only person who can tell us what we need to know," I say.

Anya nods seriously.

I push what's left of the plate of sandwiches in her direction. "Sit down and have something to eat," I say. "And then, if you wouldn't mind, we need you to tell us everything you know about Paienjen."

**Hermione**

Anya's obvious fear of Paienjen doesn't stop her from thoroughly enjoying herself. Her voice dips into a cadence that almost sounds like someone else (her grandmother, perhaps?) as she relates the tale of the ill-fated village in Romania.

"They are thinking is just an ordinary night, but is not, do you see?" Anya says softly. "Is all qviet - and then my grandmother, something vake her from her sleep. She look out the vindow, and there - there in the darkness is a pair of _glowing eyes_."

Her voice drops dramatically into a half-whisper on the last two words, and I can't restrain a shiver. In my mind I've been approaching the window with Anya's grandmother, peering out into the Romanian night.

Ron squeezes my hand reassuringly. "But your grandmother escaped," he says quickly to Anya.

"Oh, yes, she is fine and also my other relatives," Anya says, reverting to her normal cheerful tones. "But for many others - vell, is not so fine. Many peoples vere killed. So Romanian Ministry send vampire hunters, and - "

"Hang on," Ron says. "Er, vampire hunters? They have those?"

"Vell, not so many as there vere," Anya explains. "Is very dangerous job, do you see?"

"I expect it is," I agree. "But they were successful?"

Anya shrugs. "There are many different tales, but my grandmother alvays tell me that the vampire hunters at last cornered Paienjen. They make a bargain vith him - they let him escape, but he must stay in a cave deep in the mountains and never come out. And his peoples, they too must go vith him. And Paienjen has honored his vord - or so they say."

"What bargain?" I ask at once. Honestly, why not finish him off when they had him trapped?

Anya shrugs again. "My grandmother say Paienjen promise them something," she answers. "But she is not knowing vhat. I think myself it vas much gold, for the vampire hunters disappeared soon after and vere never heard from again."

It doesn't sound quite right to me, but I let it pass. This isn't what we needed to find out.

"Anya, do you know where Paienjen's cave is?" Ron asks. "Did your grandmother ever tell you?"

Anya looks doubtful. "Is hard to explain vhen you are not knowing Romania vell," she says. "I could be showing you on map - if ve had vun."

Ron looks at the opposite wall. A map of Eastern Europe obligingly materializes.

"You are very clever," Anya says admiringly. "Is hard to believe you are not real professor."

Ron looks entirely too pleased with himself, but really, Anya's right about one thing. He made a good professor. Really, it's too bad that - but I suppose it wouldn't be exciting enough for him.

Anya's already slipping out of her chair to examine the map. "Is very good, this map," she pronounces. "See, here is village where I am living vith my mother and father and my brothers and my grandmother." She taps a tiny dot on the map, looking pleased. "And here - here is village where my grandmother's family is living vhen the vampires attacked." She touches an even smaller dot that looks as though it borders a mountainous region.

Ron gets up and comes to her side. "And Paienjen?" he asks. "Where did he go, Anya?"

"Is here," Anya says, touching a point that appears to be deep in the mountains. "Or so my grandmother is telling me."

Ron looks at me over her head. "I don't see how you'd get there, exactly," he says.

I join him. "Well, they'd hardly want him to be anywhere easily accessible," I point out. "Anyone could wander in - Muggles, or - "

"I wasn't expecting a motorway," Ron says mildly. "I just thought there might be a path or something."

Anya shakes her head. "Is hidden on purpose," she says. "So no vun goes, as Hermione Granger says." She nods at me.

"Landmarks, then," Ron says, putting his face almost up against the map. "Have you ever heard any stories about anyone trying to go there, Anya?"

Anya looks horrified. "Surely no vun vould be so foolish," she says.

"What about the vampire hunters?" I offer.

"No, they have made bargain and they must abide by it," Anya says. Her gaze falls on Ron, still intently examining the map. "You must not think of going there," she tells him sternly. "He is very bad, Paienjen."

Ron's eyes meet mine. "I expect it's very dangerous," he agrees. "Now, Anya, suppose you show us where Durmstrang is?"

"You are not knowing?" Anya says, surprised.

"Er - not exactly," Ron says.

Anya grins at us. "I, also, am not sure," she admits. "Ve are traveling by sleigh, and is so many hours I am falling asleep before ve get there."

"We aren't destined to know, it seems," I say lightly, but I didn't miss the way Ron changed the subject when Anya told him to keep away from Paienjen. Surely he isn't planning - but of course he is. Of course he is. Harry, too.

Ron glances sideways at me, but doesn't say anything. "I'm afraid we'll need to be off," he says instead to Anya. "Thanks for your help - and I don't need to tell you that all of this is a secret, do I?"

"I am knowing this already," Anya says firmly. "I vill take your secrets to the grave!"

"That won't be necessary, I hope," Ron says, managing not to smile. "Right, back to the common room with you! How are the other Durmstrang kids getting on, by the way?"

"Some of them are homesick, but they are liking it here very much," Anya says.

"What about you?" I ask. "Do you miss your home?"

"I am missing my mother and father and my grandmother, and even my brothers a little, but still I vould rather stay at Hogvarts than go back to Durmstrang," Anya says.

Ron's quiet when she's gone. He walks over to the map again, studying the mountain ranges.

_No,_ I think involuntarily. "It seems a pity that Anya can't stay on at Hogwarts when she's doing so well here," I say, to cover. "Perhaps Professor McGonagall could - "

"Her parents haven't much gold," Ron says absently, not taking his eyes off the map. "Hogwarts costs a lot more than Durmstrang, and it's too far for her to go home during the holidays."

"Couldn't we offer to help?" I say, a little diffidently. Ron's always been a bit touchy about the subject of money. "And we could have her to visit during the holidays if she didn't want to stay at school, couldn't we?"

"Holidays, yeah, but I dunno about the paying bit," Ron says, but at last he looks away from the map. "You're sweet to think of it, Hermione."

One thing I'm decidedly _not_ is sweet, thank you very much. "There are scholarships and things, aren't there?" I say. "I'm sure we could arrange for Anya to win one." Especially if we set it up ourselves.

"Well - let's see what happens," Ron says cautiously. "Reckon we could come and take her out during the Easter holidays, couldn't we? Maybe bring her to Hogsmeade for a treat?"

"Of course we could," I say. I move closer to the passage entrance, wanting to get him away from the map. "Hadn't we better get back to Grimmauld Place?"

"Probably," Ron says, glancing at his watch. To my dismay, he lifts the map down from the wall and folds it carefully before tucking it into an inside pocket. "Let's go," he says cheerfully, reaching for my hand. "How much do you want to bet Rita Skeeter's waiting for us outside the Hog's Head?"

"She'd better not be," I say, diverted. "I'll turn her into a beetle myself!"

Ron's laughter echoes in the passage as we make our way back to Aberforth's sitting room.

**Harry**

Draco Malfoy (perhaps unsurprisingly) isn't particularly pleased to see me. Of course, I've just had his father arrested, but I was hoping he wouldn't know about that yet. Apparently Narcissa's owl reached him more quickly than I did.

"So that's why you gave me that pair of tickets to the Arrows match," he says accusingly. "You wanted me out of the way so you could trap my father!"

That isn't exactly the only reason I needed him out of the way, but I let it go for now.

"No one trapped him," I say mildly. "He was apprehended while trying to attack a Ministry official."

Malfoy eyes me sourly. "You haven't got anything on him," he says. "He'll have been much too careful for that."

As it happens, he's quite right, but I'm surprised to hear him speak so plainly. "Did you and Astoria enjoy the match?" I ask.

"Like you care," Malfoy snaps. "We enjoyed it until we were interrupted by a hysterical message from my mother. I brought Astoria straight home, and Merlin knows if her father's ever going to let me darken his door again when he hears about this!"

"I wouldn't worry about it," I say. Horatio Greengrass is about to have more important things to worry about. What's going to come out about Jeremy Gamp will make Draco Malfoy look positively angelic in comparison. I spare a fleeting thought for Daphne. Much as I dislike her, I pity her for what she'll be going through.

Malfoy's been watching me. "You know something," he says shrewdly. "Out with it, Potter."

I make myself smile at him. "I was just thinking about Quidditch," I lie. "Do you happen to know what the final score was?"

Malfoy makes a disgusted noise and half-turns to go.

"Hang on," I say. "I really wanted to ask you about New Zealand."

Malfoy looks surprised. "Why?" he says irritably; then, "I'm not telling you a damned thing, Potter! Not unless you promise to let Father go."

"He'll have to face charges," I say, but Malfoy and I both know they won't stick. In any case, we're not going to get anything out of Lucius. I'd sooner have him loose where we can spy on him. "Fine," I say to Malfoy. "I'll do what I can to get him released as quickly as possible. Now will you answer my questions?"

Malfoy folds his arms, waiting.

"It must have been rather lonely, living on the peacock ranch," I start. "Did you see much of other people?"

"Not really," Malfoy says, looking at me suspiciously. "There weren't many of _our_ sort in the region. Father had some old man he was pretty thick with - they used to drink firewhisky together and talk about how the current administration was destroying England - but Mother was often bored, I think."

"The old man," I say, trying to keep the excitement from my voice. "Do you remember his name?"

"Deerfield - no Deering, I think," Malfoy says. "Who cares?"

"Where did he live?" I persist. "Did you ever go to his house?"

"Dozens of times, with Father," Malfoy says with a shrug. "There wasn't anything particularly interesting about it. It certainly wasn't anywhere near as large as our place."

_Maybe not interesting to you, Draco, but I'll have to disagree._ "Where was it, exactly?" I ask.

Malfoy tells me, looking progressively more annoyed. "Is that all?" he demands.

"For now," I concede. "Mind you don't tell anyone I was asking."

"Like I'd tell anyone I talk to you," Malfoy says. "What about Father?"

I suppress a sigh. "Consider it done," I say.

**Ron**

"You're on page two," Ginny says, tossing the _Daily Prophet_ at me as I sit down at the breakfast table.

"How can I be in the paper when no one's seen me in months?" I ask, but I'm already folding it open. Oh. Right. I'd forgotten about that photographer in Hogsmeade.

"It's a very sweet picture of both of you," Ginny says teasingly. "And I love the headline - 'Reunited', in letter three inches high. That's Rita Skeeter for you - always going for the subtle touch."

"We never even saw Rita Skeeter," I protest.

"Like that's ever stopped her before," Ginny answers. "There's an owl at the window - I'll bet you anything you like it's from her."

I let the owl in. The envelope in its beak is addressed to me and Hermione - and Ginny's only too right.

"Take this back to her," I tell the owl, scribbling "NO" across Rita's letter in writing that's nearly as big as the headline.

"She won't give up that easily," Ginny says cynically.

I take another look at the paper. The story doesn't say much (well, how could it?) but Rita's made the most out of what little she had to go on. Funny we didn't make the front page… oh, right. The attempted takeover at the Ministry. Only there's not much about that, either - just that several "persons of interest" were apprehended at the Ministry of Magic yesterday, and that they're now "assisting the Aurors with their investigation." Hermione and I got a much bigger headline.

"Anyway, we won't have to worry about how we're going to tell people," I say, cheering up a bit. "They likely all know by now."

"Know what?" Hermione says from the doorway.

I hand her the paper and pour her a cup of tea.

"And there's another owl," Ginny says, looking at the window. "You two aren't going to have any peace today."

"I was hoping to go back to work," Hermione says.

"I'd give it a few days," I tell her. "Rita won't leave off, you know what a stalker she is. And anyway, Harry said it'd be a few days before they get things settled down."

Those aren't exactly compelling reasons, but for some reason Hermione doesn't argue. "Maybe you're right," she says to my complete astonishment.

"I think it would do all of us good to have a day off," Ginny says, looking as surprised as I feel. "It's supposed to snow this afternoon - we can all sit round the fire and talk."

She means she and Perdita can talk about babies, probably. No thanks. "When did Harry go?" I ask, already restless.

"An hour ago," Ginny answers. "He said to tell you not to come to the Ministry under any circumstances."

That's what he told me last night, too, but I can't think why. Anyone who reads the _Prophet_ knows I'm not in South America, so they might as well leave off with that idea.

"Marvin won't let me go anywhere either," Perdita says sympathetically, coming in with the baby in her arms. "Awfully boring of them, isn't it?"

She's smiling, but she looks like she hasn't slept much. Ginny reaches at once for the baby, and Hermione starts fussing over the food, piling about six different things on Perdita's plate.

Perdita's not much interested in food, though. "Is there - anything?" she asks, nodding at the paper.

"Not a word," Ginny assures her. "Harry said the Aurors would hush it up. They're - " She hesitates, but Perdita motions for her to go on.

"We'll put it out that he died in an accidental fall," I say, when it's clear Ginny isn't going to speak. "We've arranged for him to be found someplace far from Andromeda's. It'll likely be in tomorrow's paper."

Perdita looks at me gratefully. "Thanks," she says.

It wasn't just for her sake - it's mostly because Harry doesn't want any of Jeremy's lot thinking we know anything whatsoever about what he was up to - but I reckon it's all right if she wants to think that. "Eat your breakfast," I tell her. "If you promise to finish your eggs, I'll read you Rita Skeeter's story about the reunification of me and Hermione."

"The what?" Perdita says, but she manages a real smile this time. "Is that what all those owls are hanging about for?"

I look up at the window. Now there are five of them, all jostling for position on the sill.

"I can't take a whole day of this," Hermione says, watching the owls all try to land in front of her at once. "No, you've delivered them, but we aren't sending any answers. Shoo!"

The owls shoo, but they look seriously annoyed.

"What did you have in mind?" I say hopefully to Hermione. I don't want to hang about here all day either, but not so much because of the owls.

"I'm feeling a bit guilty about that errand Ernie gave to Swanhilda," Hermione answers. "I know I'm not really her, and I haven't really got to do it - but - well, it's something to do, isn't it?"

I have to think for a minute before I remember what the errand was. Some old wizard wanting someone to come look at a lot of old dusty books or something, wasn't it? It sounds boring as hell, but -

"How long did you have morning sickness?" Ginny asks Perdita.

But on the other hand, it might not be that bad. "Better dress warm," I say to Hermione. "Ginny says it's going to snow later."

There's no snow when we arrive, as per Ernie's instructions, at the top of a hill about half an hour later. "This is quite near Mum and Dad," I say to Hermione, looking about. "Look, the Burrow's over that way."

Hermione frowns, turning slowly in a circle. "We've been here before, haven't we?" she asks.

"Course we have," I say. "I told you, the Burrow - "

"No, we've been here," Hermione interrupts. "On this very hill. Don't you remember?"

Hermione and I took a lot of long walks in an attempt to find someplace we could be alone, back when we were staying at the Burrow right after the Battle of Hogwarts, but I don't recall that we ever walked _this_ far. "No," I say, but then all of a sudden I do remember. "Hang on," I say. "We came this way when we were looking for Luna's house."

Hermione starts down the hill. "If I remember correctly, there was a house just over this next rise."

I don't know why she says "if" - when did Hermione ever remember anything incorrectly? - but I recognize the house, too. "It's the one I said was too normal to belong to the Lovegoods," I say.

The house looks just the same, except there are no geraniums in the window boxes. Too cold still, I reckon.

"Well, this is where Mr. Fawcett lives," Hermione says, consulting the parchment in her hand.

_Maybe we should have put on disguises,_ I think, as we wait for Mr. Fawcett to answer the door. Well, too late now. Anyway, the Fawcetts were never Dark Wizards. The kids were always a lot older than any of us, but I think I remember Mum saying something about one of their sons marrying a Muggle.

It's dead obvious that the woman who answers the door recognizes us straight away, but she's too polite to say so.

"Good morning," Hermione says quickly. "I've come from Magical Records, about the books? I'm Hermione Weasley, and this is my husband, Ron."

"I know your aunt Muriel," the woman says, shaking my hand. "I'm Dorothea Fawcett."

"If you wouldn't mind, please don't tell her I was here," I say. "I'm not exactly her favorite nephew at the moment."

Mrs. Fawcett laughs. "I'll fetch my husband," she says. "Please come in and sit down."

There are boxes all over the sitting room, and we have to shift a few things before we can find space on the sofa. "They must be moving or something," Hermione whispers.

Mr. Fawcett appears and immediately bears Hermione off to the library.

"Aren't you going with them?" Mrs. Fawcett asks me.

"I'd just be in the way," I admit. "You haven't got to entertain me, though, if you've something better to do."

"I wouldn't call it _better_, exactly, but I suppose I ought to finish packing up this room," Mrs. Fawcett says. "Although really, I told Jasper there was no hurry, now that our buyers have fallen through."

Hermione was right, then. "Where are you moving?" I ask politely.

"Our youngest daughter and her husband manage a wizarding resort in Jamaica, and she's been after us for years to come and join them there," Mrs. Fawcett answers. "We said no, at first - but we're not getting any younger, and the winters aren't getting any shorter. It doesn't get cold there _at all_ - just fancy!"

She goes on to tell me all about her daughter's kids, and even offers to show me pictures, but I'm only half paying attention. "Mrs. Fawcett," I say, gazing unseeingly at a group of people waving from the deck of a ship. "Could I - er - have a glass of water?" I don't want to come right out and say Hermione and I are house-hunting, because what if the rest of the place is horrible? This ought to at least get me into the kitchen, and then I'll think up some other excuse to see the other rooms.

"Nice kitchen," I say, a few minutes later. At least, I guess it is. It's a kitchen, anyway.

Mrs. Fawcett beams at me. "Lovely, isn't it?" she says. "So convenient for cooking."

I'll take her word for it. Cooking isn't exactly my thing - or Hermione's.

"Do you know, I think your parents live quite nearby," Mrs. Fawcett says.

There's an idea - maybe we can eat at Mum and Dad's. "It's only a few miles," I answer. I look at Mrs. Fawcett, still smiling as she hands me a glass of water, and decide to come clean. "Hermione and I are looking for a house," I blurt out. "And I was wondering - do you think we might- "

Mrs. Fawcett takes it out of my hands. "Let me show you over the whole place," she says, suddenly businesslike.

**Harry**

Everything was back to normal by the time I left the Ministry last night, but I still take the time to walk around on some of the floors.

"But I asked you about that report yesterday," a woman's saying to Basil Sedgewick as I pass through the Department of Magical Law. "You told me you'd finished it."

"Did I?" Basil says, looking slightly harassed.

I repress a smile and move on.

Ernie waves me down as I enter Magical Records.

_"Muffliato,"_ he whispers, eagerly bearing me off into a corner. "Well? Did everything go as planned?"

"Brilliantly, thanks to you lot," I say, even though Ernie didn't actually do much of anything besides help guard an exit door. "Mind you don't say anything to anyone yet, all right? There are a few more details we need to work out."

Ernie nods sagely. "I saw this morning's _Prophet_," he says. "I couldn't help noticing that - well, we all know Rita Skeeter makes things up, but it certainly _looked_ like Ron and Hermione."

I grin at him. "It looked like them because it _was_ them," I admit. "Ron's been away on a sort of undercover mission for the Aurors - Hermione knew about it the whole time - but it's not something they want to share with Rita just yet."

"Or ever?" Ernie suggests.

I laugh, wondering if I ought to break the news that his best employee is, in fact, Hermione - and he's about to lose her.

"I had a message from Swanhilda this morning," Ernie says, almost as though he's read my thoughts. "She's gone off to see that wizard about the books. I'm not sure why she didn't go yesterday - but I won't begrudge her a day off, as long as she comes back!"

No, I can't break his heart just yet. I hope Hermione took Ron with her. I didn't quite like the way he kept looking at that map of Romania last night. If anyone's going after Gawain, it's got to be me. And I have to take care of Caradoc Dearborn first.

I leave Ernie, after first extracting his promise to pass the word to the other DA members to keep silent about their part in yesterday's activities. I sent another Patronus to Persimmon this morning, but she still hasn't answered. I'm beginning to get concerned. And Dawlish isn't back yet, either. Just what the hell is going on in New Zealand, anyway?

Jackson and O'Connor are waiting to ask me the same question when I finally make it back to my office.

"I really think one of us ought to go," O'Connor says anxiously. "Persimmon's not exactly young anymore."

"If you ask me, Dawlish has been Confunded again and he's kidnapped her or something," Jackson offers.

"Oh, go on," I say, a bit uneasily. "I'll admit he might have been Confunded - he seems to have a real knack for it - but why would anyone suspect Persimmon of anything?"

"Then where is she?" O'Connor demands. "Why hasn't she answered any of your messages?"

"No idea," I say helplessly. "But I mean to find out. As soon as I straighten out a few things here, I'm off to New Zealand myself to - what? Why are you both looking at me like that?"

"Oh, Harry," O'Connor says, shaking her head.

"He still hasn't quite figured it out," Jackson says sadly. "Shame, really - he used to be quite clever."

"Harry, you can't just pop off to New Zealand like you're a regular Auror," O'Connor says. "You're the boss now. You've got to stay here and do - er, boss things."

"Lucky for you, you've got two seriously good people you can send in your place," Jackson says pointedly.

Well, I suppose it'd better be these two. "Fine," I say resignedly. "There's quite a lot I need to fill you in on first."

"Caradoc Dearborn," O'Connor says thoughtfully, once I've finished explaining everything. "Funny, I seem to recognize the name."

"I don't," Jackson says. "But we'll track him down for you, Harry."

"I want a full report every day," I tell them both. "And we'd better set up some code words in case you run into trouble."

"If we run into Dawlish, can I Confund him?" Jackson asks. "Now, I've got one more thing I need to do before we go." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sheet of newspaper, unfolding it carefully. I immediately recognize page two of this morning's _Prophet_.

"I fixed this up for Ron," he announces, grinning at me. "A little welcome back gift."

"He's drawn little hearts all over it," O'Connor says, looking amused.

"Not just that," Jackson says proudly. "I'm going to hang it on the wall over his desk. I've bewitched it to play a Celestina Warbeck song if he tries to take it down."

"Don't demonstrate, please," I say, grinning back. "I get enough Celestina from my mother-in-law."

It strikes me, once they've gone, that Jackson would never have dared show that picture to Gawain. Yet I don't feel as though he doesn't respect me as a leader - and I have faith in him and O'Connor. They know their jobs.

"You're a different kind of leader, that's all," Ginny told me last night when I voiced something similar to her.

Maybe she's right. I don't know that my way is any better than Gawain's, but it's the only way I can manage this job. It'll have to do. 

**Hermione**

Ron still looks a bit dazed as we make our way up the hill. "Do you think it's big enough?" he asks me abruptly. "It's only got three bedrooms."

I have to remind myself that he grew up in a house that held nine people. "Of course it's big enough," I say. "Especially when you consider that we haven't any furniture."

Ron starts to laugh. "All those kitchen cupboards and we've only got four plates," he says.

"It'll make unpacking easy, anyway," I say practically. "And it was lovely of Mr. Fawcett to say he'd leave the bookcases."

"Yeah, but we can't sleep on them," Ron says. "We're going to need to buy furniture. I think there's a shop in Diagon Alley - only maybe we don't want to go there just yet. Reckon we can get it by owl order?"

"I'm not buying furniture unless I can see it for myself," I say firmly. "Mrs. Fawcett said there were some things they were willing to sell. She's going to send me a list."

"Not that pair of flowered armchairs they had in the sitting room," Ron warns me. "They looked like they'd break in half if I sat down on them."

They _were_ a bit fragile-looking. "The kitchen table and chairs were nice," I say. "And so was - what is it?"

"Harry," Ron says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the mirror. "Good thing he waited till we were finished." He holds out the mirror so that I can take a corner. "Go on, let's tell him together."

"Where are you?" Harry asks at once, trying to see beyond us.

Ron grins at him. "Does it look familiar?"

"Ernie said you'd been to see that old man with the books," Harry answers. "Have you finished?"

"With the books," Ron says cryptically. "Not with the old man, though."

"Don't call him 'the old man' like that," I say. "He's lovely - they both are." I look at Ron. "Will we tell him?"

"We've bought a house," we say together.

Harry's face in the glass is startled. "When?" he demands. "Just now?"

"Yes, and you'll never guess - " I start.

"You didn't have to buy the first one you saw," Harry interrupts. "You can stay at Grimmauld Place as long as you like, you know."

Once we've explained, though, he approves - and he remembers the house. "The one with geraniums," he says at once. "Well, congratulations and all that, but - "

"But you need me for something?" Ron says hopefully. "Do you need me to go somewhere?"

I catch my breath. Not yet - please.

"No," Harry says, and I feel like I can breathe again. "I sent Jackson and O'Connor to New Zealand this morning to track down whatever they can about Dearborn. They can have a look for Persimmon while they're about it. I need you to come out to Azkaban with me and question Pucey. No one's gotten anywhere with him, but I have a feeling he just might talk to you."

"Yeah, our time together at Durmstrang really made a bond between us," Ron says teasingly, but he looks rather pleased with himself.

"You'd better go," I say, relieved. I know he hates Azkaban - they all do - but it means he'll be home tonight and not off in some foreign country. "I'll go back to Grimmauld Place and tell Ginny and Perdita our news."

"Stay where you are for a few minutes," Harry says unexpectedly. "Ron better not come to the Ministry - there are reporters hanging about in the Atrium. Anyway, I'd sort of like to see your house, even if it's from a distance."

Ron puts the mirror away and slips his arm around me. I lean against his side, waiting for Harry and looking down the hillside at our new home.

**Harry**

"Who do you want first?" I ask Ron, pausing outside the Azkaban interrogation chamber.

"Pucey, of course," Ron says, just as I'd known he would. He grins at me. "Maybe I ought to have worn one of Hermione's dresses, just to make him feel a bit more at home."

"The one she wore to our wedding ought to look well on you," I agree, grinning back. "Assuming you could even get it over your head, of course." I touch the door to the room with my wand. "I'll have them send Pucey in here for you while I tackle Lucius," I say. "Not that I'm going to get a damned thing out of him, but I'll give it a go." If it were anyone else but Lucius Malfoy, I might ask Ron to try, but I don't quite dare to leave them alone in a room together. Ron (perhaps rightly) blames the entire extended Malfoy family for what Bellatrix Lestrange did to Hermione.

He answers me now only with an abstracted nod, and I leave him to it.

"This is a preposterous charge, and you know it, Potter!" Lucius Malfoy tells me a quarter of an hour later. "I was merely visiting my son at his place of business when I was attacked by that idiot Percy Weasley. Why haven't you got _him_ locked up?" His lip curls. "But I was forgetting… he's _family_."

He says "family" like it's a bad word. "Percy Weasley says he acted in self-defense," I say, wondering how Draco's going to explain to his father that he wasn't actually in the office that day. There's no getting round it, not with Narcissa knowing enough to send him an owl at the Quidditch match.

Lucius looks furious. "Self-defense?" he repeats. "It was an unprovoked attack - not that I can expect justice when the attacker is your brother-in-law."

"Perhaps there was a misunderstanding," I suggest gently, ignoring his last comment. "If you were willing to tell me what you and Simon Parkinson were really doing at the Ministry, I might be able to straighten things out."

"Parkinson?" Lucius says cagily. "My companion was Eldon Gamp."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Eldon Gamp," I say. "A very interesting man. Shame he doesn't really exist." Lucius starts to speak, but I hold up a hand. "Save it," I say. "We had Magical Records check him out. And in any case, Mr. Gamp's disguise has been removed and he's been identified as Simon Parkinson by a number of people."

"Clearly I was deceived," Lucius says, not even blinking. "The man told me his name was Eldon Gamp, and I took him at his word."

"Did he also suggest that the two of you meet at the Ministry?" I ask.

"As a matter of fact, he did," Lucius says smoothly. "He expressed interest in seeing my son's place of business." He leans back in his chair and gives me a cold smile. "Have we quite finished here, Potter?"

We have no grounds to hold him, and he knows it. "Don't leave the country without notifying the Ministry," I say wearily, pulling the bell to summon the guards.

I don't bother saying goodbye. I've already notified Hestia that we'll be releasing Lucius this afternoon. She'll be waiting to take over shadowing him when he reaches the shore.

The guard pops his head back in. "The Bulgarian interpreter's here," he informs me. "Will I send him in?"

I nod. "Have a pot of tea sent in, too," I call after him. The damp chill of Azkaban is already sinking into my bones. I shiver, wishing I was at home in front of the fire with Ginny.

The Bulgarian interpreter has very little discernable personality, but he speaks several languages fluently. I give up after several attempts to start a conversation and ring for the next prisoner to be brought in.

**Ron**

Adrian's surprisingly chatty for someone who hates me as much as he must. "I never trusted you from the start," he accuses, the moment he lays eyes on me. "I knew you were a spy, but Baranov swore you'd been highly recommended."

_Thanks to Viktor Krum, I was._ "No doubt the real Harris was," I say lightly. "Not being him, I wouldn't know." I look him over. He's still wearing his Etilka robes, but he's ditched the wig and done his best to wipe off most of the make-up. "You look considerably better," I tell him. "No offense, but you didn't exactly make an attractive woman."

Pucey scowls at me. "I hadn't any choice," he snaps. "I had to be someone who was a real person."

"Was?" I say.

"I didn't kill her," Pucey says quickly. "It was an accident."

"I'm sure it was," I say soothingly. "I expect that's exactly what we'll find out when we investigate."

The scowl deepens. "I met Etilka in Egypt," Pucey says reluctantly. "She was there on an expedition of some sort to look at runes. I was trying to keep out of the way - I'm sure you can guess why."

_Because you were being hunted down by Magical Law Enforcement in several different countries,_ I think, but I only give him an encouraging sort of nod.

"So I pretended to be interested in runes, too, and I joined the expedition," Pucey continues. "No one paid any mind to me at all - I didn't even bother with much of a disguise. All they were interested in was runes. Etilka kept trying to chat me up, and I was so bored I let her. I found out she'd been offered a position at Durmstrang, and that she'd be starting right after she returned from Egypt."

"And so that's when you killed her," I suggest.

"I told you, it was an accident," Pucey insists, his voice rising. "We were looking at runes as usual, down in a cavern of some sort, and there was a cave-in. A bloody great pile of rocks came right down on her - there wasn't anything I could have done."

"You were the only other person there?" I ask.

Pucey nods. "She'd got her bag with her, so I took it," he admits. "Her letter from Durmstrang was in there. I skived off from the expedition and took myself off to - to a quiet place I know of. People there helped me get some women's clothing. I'd known Etilka, so it was easy to mimic her, if anyone should come looking. Only no one did. Apparently she hadn't any close friends or family. I invented a sister, so that I'd have an excuse to get away from Durmstrang once in a while."

"To the quiet place," I say. I glance sideways at him, gauging his reaction. No, he's not ready to let that one slip yet - better move on for now. "So you've been playing the role of Etilka Varga for years now," I say. "I have to almost admire you for it."

Whatever Pucey expected, it wasn't that. "Why?" he demands, looking startled.

"Well, women's clothes are so bloody uncomfortable-looking," I say frankly. "I mean, the shoes alone would've done me in after about an hour. And then there's that fake Bulgarian accent - to never let that slip, not even once…" I shake my head. "I don't think I could have managed."

"It became almost second nature after the first few months," Pucey says, but as I'd intended, he looks rather pleased with himself. "And I'd learned a bit of Bulgarian from Etilka. I've always had a quick ear for languages."

"I could have spent the rest of my life at Durmtsrang and never picked up a word," I say cheerfully. "Except _borscht_, of course. Food there was bloody awful, wasn't it?"

Pucey looks superior. "Food isn't important," he says. "Except to someone like you, Weasley. I don't suppose you ever got enough to eat at home." He looks marginally cheered up by the idea that he's managed to insult me.

"When did the Brotherhood of Blood approach you?" I ask casually, keeping the smile on my face.

Pucey nearly falls for it. "Oh, it was before I - " he starts, and then realizes what he's doing. "I've never heard of the Brotherhood of Blood," he says brazenly.

"Oh, go on," I tell him. "You do realize that Kirilov and Baranov have already given you up, don't you? Baranov's trying to pin the whole thing on you. He says you were the leader."

"He's a bloody liar," Pucey says, looking infuriated. "He knew who was running things just as well as I did. I can't believe he'd say something like that!"

As far as I know, he didn't, but it doesn't seem impossible, given what I know of Baranov. "It's incredible what people will say when they're trying to save themselves," I agree sympathetically. "Still, I have to wonder if he was right. We all assumed Jeremy Gamp was in charge, but he doesn't seem to have been anywhere near the Ministry. He'll be asked for his whereabouts, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's got a perfectly good alibi. Probably spent the day with his fiancée or something."

"Daphne used to be _my_ girlfriend," Pucey says crossly.

_Likely you can get her back,_ I think. _Unless she's had her fill of Dark Wizards._ "For all I know, Gamp's completely innocent," I continue, hoping Pucey doesn't know who my Auror partner is.

Apparently he doesn't. "You don't know anything about Jeremy Gamp," he informs me.

"No?" I say. "Supposing you tell me then. Just where was he yesterday?"

"Damned if I know," Pucey says, looking moody again.

"Look, Pucey," I say abruptly. "You know and I know that things didn't go down as planned yesterday. Because someone bailed on you at the last minute. It was Gamp, wasn't it? He let the whole lot of you down, and you walked right into the trap the Aurors set for you."

Pucey's eyes narrow. "Are you telling me he _knew_?" he demands.

"I'm not telling you anything," I say. "Just thinking out loud. But it does seem awfully convenient, doesn't it?"

"His sister," Pucey says, half to himself. "He said they hadn't spoken in years, not since she turned blood traitor, but it could have been… and bloody Gamp walks away while the rest of us rot in prison!" He looks up at me, furious. "He did, didn't he?"

"Don't ask me," I say. "No one tells me anything. I'm not as high up as all that. But if you ask me, it looks a bit suspicious."

Pucey looks disgusted. "Don't give me that, Weasley. Everyone knows Potter's your best mate, and he's running things with the Aurors now. You know more than you're letting on."

"Like I said," I repeat slowly. "I can't _tell_ you anything." I sit down across from him and lean forward confidentially. "But you could tell me a few things, couldn't you? I mean, it's not as though you owe Gamp any loyalty, after what he did."

Pucey's face is calculating. "If I tell you what you want to know, will you get the charges dropped?" he asks.

I smile at him. "I'll see what I can do," I say. I'm probably not going to be able to do anything, but Pucey doesn't know that.

Pucey's silent for a long moment. "Where do you want me to start?" he says at last.

Excellent. "Let's start with your recruitment into the Brotherhood of Blood," I say. "Who approached you?"

**Hermione**

It's well past midnight when I finally hear from Ron.

"I'm on my way home," the silver Patronus says in his voice. "You might look around for a sandwich or something, if you're still up."

Typical. But I smile to myself as I build up the fire and head for the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of tea. I have a tray waiting when he appears several minutes later.

"I'm frozen all the way through from that damned boat," Ron says, reaching gratefully for me and a cup of hot tea at the same time. "You'd think they'd come up with a better way to get to and from Azkaban, but - are those cream cakes?"

"Your mum's owled Ginny twice, wanting to know what was going on with that picture in the Prophet," I say, watching him eat. "Poor Errol's nearly done in. Kreacher took him off to the kitchen to rest."

Ron rolls his eyes at me over his sandwich. "Maybe we'd better go over there tomorrow," he says.

"I really think we'd better," I say. "What happened at Azkaban - are you supposed to tell me?"

"Probably not, but Harry knows I will," Ron says. He looks around. "Everyone else gone to bed?"

I nod. "Where's Harry?"

"Kingsley wanted to see him," Ron says. "I don't envy him that interview!"

"I'm sure Kingsley will understand," I say, but I don't envy Harry either.

Ron slides a hand - the one that isn't holding a sandwich - over mine. "I like it when you wait up for me," he remarks.

"You like having food waiting for you," I say, but I squeeze his hand. "How did things go at Azkaban?"

I'm stunned when he tells me. "How did you ever manage to get all that out of Adrian Pucey?" I demand.

He grins at me. "Because I'm good," he says teasingly.

Honestly. (He is, though.) "You could convict the whole lot of them on his evidence alone," I say, still incredulous. "Even Simon Parkinson - and they're supposed to be friends."

"Friendship doesn't usually stand up for very long against the idea of a life sentence in Azkaban," Ron says cynically. "And I couldn't get what we really needed from Pucey."

"Dearborn," I say. "He refused to tell you anything?"

"He swore he never knew the man's name," Ron says. "According to Pucey, someone was passing orders down through Gamp, but they were never told who it was or anything about him. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth or not. I even offered to try and get all charges dropped - not that I could, of course - just to see what he'd say. He wouldn't budge. Maybe we'll have more luck with one of the others, but I wouldn't count on it."

"Simon?" I suggest. "Certainly none of the Bulgarian lot - it doesn't seem as though they know anything."

"Not the ones here," Ron agrees. "Kirilov, now - or maybe even Baranov; he's not as clever…" He stares into the fire, sandwich forgotten. "Wish I'd gotten the chance to talk to either of them," he says, more to himself than to me. "Bulgarian Law Enforcement Squad's bound to make a mess of it… I wonder if they'd let me…"

No. If he goes to Bulgaria, he'll go to Romania and start looking for that cave. For some reason, the idea of it frightens me more than anything that's happened so far. Maybe it was Anya's story about the vampires. I couldn't get the thought of it out of my head all evening - I've almost been afraid to look out of the window in case I see a pair of eyes glowing at me. For some reason I picture them as red - like Voldemort's eyes. I shiver involuntarily at the thought.

"Cold?" Ron asks, reaching for me. "It's probably my fault - reckon the cold air's still coming off me from that damned boat ride."

"I'm all right," I say, nestling closer. "We ought to go to bed - it's been a long day."

"I've got to wait for Harry," Ron says. "Keep me company for a bit, can't you - or are you too tired?"

"I'm not tired at all," I say, truthfully enough. I'm far too keyed up for sleep.

Ron looks at me sideways. "Enough about the damned Brotherhood," he says. "Hermione, we bought a house today! Unless I dreamed it?"

I smile at him. "You didn't," I say. "Ron, our own house!" I reach for the roll of parchment on the table. "I started making a list of all the things we need to do," I explain, unrolling it. "I'm sure I'm forgetting things, though - maybe you ought to have a read through it and see what you think?"

Ron leans back, closing his eyes. "Read it to me," he suggests.

"Don't go to sleep," I say automatically, but for once I don't care if he does.

**Harry**

I'm not looking forward to another useless day of questioning Bulgarian prisoners, and I don't particularly want to hang about the Ministry (Kingsley understood why we didn't stop the Visitor's Day tours, but let's just say he wasn't exactly pleased), so I'm fervently hoping that the Patronus that's just arrived at the breakfast table is an excuse to avoid doing either.

"Persimmon was here, but the people at her hotel say she checked out over a week ago," the silver field mouse says in O'Connor's voice. "She didn't leave a forwarding address, and no one seems to know what her plans were. Will we keep looking, or move on to Plan B?"

Plan B is to check out Dearborn's house. It's the next logical step, obviously, but I'm worried about Persimmon. Maybe if I sent someone else… Hestia? No, I can't spare her just now. Hathaway, either.

Ron's been watching me. "I could go," he says in a low voice.

Hermione's eyes dart to his face, but she (most uncharacteristically) says nothing.

"I still need you for questioning," I tell Ron. "There's Simon still."

"Yeah, but once I'm done with him there's no one but a lot of useless foreigners," Ron says. "They don't know anything. And I'm not so sure Simon does, either. He was hiding in his family's cellar most of the time, wasn't he?" He eyes me thoughtfully. "Know who I'd really like to talk to? Kirilov and Baranov."

"They're in the custody of the Bulgarian Ministry," I say, a bit uncertainly. "I don't know if they'd let anyone from our Ministry question their prisoners. I'm sure there's some sort of protocol involved, but - "

"Percy would know," Ginny remarks. "If there's anything he loves more than protocol, I don't know what it is."

"You'd have to go to Bulgaria," Hermione says, speaking for the first time. "Wouldn't you?"

"We can't expect them to bring their prisoners here, just so it's convenient for us," Ron says. "Although come to think of it, I don't know but what I wouldn't rather go to Bulgaria than bloody Azkaban again. At least I wouldn't have to ride in that damned boat." He waves a piece of toast at me for emphasis. "I know those two, Harry. I'll bet I could make them talk to me - Baranov especially."

Hermione's eyes meet mine. She looks worried, but I can't think why. Ron'll be perfectly safe if he's under the protection of the Bulgarian Ministry.

"It's a good idea," I say. "I'll talk to Percy as soon as I get in to the office. But I'm afraid I need you to go to Azkaban again today to deal with Simon. Sorry."

"It's okay," Ron says, waving the toast again in forgiveness. "At least I'm not likely to run into Rita Skeeter there."

I glance over at the window, where a group of hopeful owls are perched. "You might as well just give in and talk to her," I advise. "If you give her the exclusive, the other reporters will leave you alone." More or less.

"I'm scared of her," Ron admits. "I always end up saying something I didn't mean to say."

"Write out a press release and send it to the _Prophet_," Ginny suggests. "Or even better - send it to Lee Jordan and have him read it out during his show."

Hermione looks slightly harassed. "I don't even know what we'd put in a press release," she protests. "There are so many things we can't tell anyone yet."

"It's easy," Ginny says. "I'll write it for you, if you like."

I leave them to it, slipping into the hall to send a return message to O'Connor and Jackson.

"Plan B," I tell them. "I'll have someone else follow up with the other. Check in when you've reached your destination."

"No luck with Persimmon?" Perdita says from the stairs.

I hadn't even realized she was there. "You're good," I tell her.

Perdita shrugs. "For all the good it does," she says. "Let me help, Harry! I'm not pregnant anymore - and the baby wouldn't miss me for an hour or so."

I hesitate. Normally there's nothing I'd like better than to have Perdita back on board, but she's been out of things for a while now, and after what she went through yesterday… I'm just not sure she's one-hundred percent.

"Well," I say slowly, looking up in relief as the door from the dining room opens.

"Morning, Perdita," Ron says cheerfully. "Bet you're glad you're not me today - it looks like Azkaban again."

"Even Azkaban sounds better than hanging about doing nothing," Perdita says. "Ron, tell Harry I'm perfectly fit for duty."

Ron eyes her. "What is it that you want to do?" he asks, clearly hedging.

"Just go to New Zealand and have a look for Persimmon," Perdita says. "It'd only be a few hours."

Ron's face brightens. "I might go with her," he says to me. "Long as I disguise myself, it won't matter if anyone sees me."

"You know we're the best team in the Department," Perdita adds. "Do you think Ginny would mind looking after the baby?"

"Mind?" Ron says, grinning. "Good luck getting him back from her!"

I consider. It's not absolutely necessary for anyone to question Simon Parkinson this morning. In fact, it might be better to let Simon stew for a day or so. I'll make sure the guard lets him know that Lucius Malfoy's been released - that ought to get him good and worried. And I really am worried about Persimmon. I keep thinking about that woman that Ludo Bagman never bothered looking for - what was her name again?

"Okay," I say. "Can you both try and make yourselves look like Jackson and O'Connor? It might look odd if too many different people show up looking for Persimmon." I look at Ron. "Maybe you'd better let Perdita help you," I suggest. Ron has a tendency to go overboard with disguises.

"Go on and ask Ginny, why don't you," Ron says to Perdita, ignoring me.

I wait until the door's shut behind Perdita before turning to him. "What's up with Hermione?" I ask.

Ron shrugs. "She won't come right out and say so, but I think she's got it into her head that I'm going to take off and look for Gawain on my own," he says.

"Like I'd let that happen," I answer. _I'm going alone._

"We're going together," Ron says, seeming to guess my thoughts. "Both of us. It's no job for a person alone, Harry." He starts for the stairs. "Isn't it summer in New Zealand? Maybe I ought to change my clothes."

"It'll be tricky," I acknowledge, avoiding a direct answer. "But there's nothing we can do about Gawain till we have Dearborn. Just concentrate on finding Persimmon for now." _Bertha Jorkins, that was her name…_

Ron pauses, one foot on the bottom stair. "Dearborn's the key to the whole thing," he says. "But I don't really think he's in New Zealand. Do you, Harry?"

He's halfway up the stairs before I've formulated a reply. "No," I say to the newel post. "No, I don't."

**Ron**

"Jackson and O'Connor told everyone they were looking for their dear old gran," I say. "She's gone a bit dotty in the last few years, and she's taken to disappearing."

"Worries our poor mum terribly," Perdita agrees. "We never dreamed when Gran said she was going out for knitting wool that she meant to get it directly from the sheep!"

I start to laugh, then hastily straighten my face as we approach the entrance to the pub. It's the only sign of life in the village bordering the organic wool farm. Hermione was right about it already being tonight in New Zealand - and she was right about it not really being summer, either. The air feels heavy with rain, and there's a damp breeze coming from somewhere. I'm grateful for the rush of warmth when I push open the pub door.

There are only about a dozen people in the pub, and they all stop talking when we enter. I give them an awkward wave and make my way over to the bar behind Perdita.

"Two butterbeers, please," I say to the barman. We've got to order something, but I want to keep a clear head.

"Now, you'll not be from these parts," the barman says conversationally, setting two mugs in front of us.

"No, we're English," I say, like he hadn't figured that out already.

The barman nods, like that was exactly what he'd expected me to say. "Tourists, are you?" he asks, a little doubtfully.

"Not exactly," Perdita says, smiling at him. "We're looking for our grandmother."

I give him the story about dotty old Gran who we're pretty sure went to visit the organic wool farm, but no one's heard from her since, and at her age…

The barman looks thoughtful. "They get an odd lot visiting there, sometimes," he says. "There was a whole group not long ago that won some sort of contest on a radio program. Now, I won't say I haven't sent a few owls in my day, trying to win Quidditch tickets or whatnot, but coming all the way from London to tour a wool farm - and old Mr. Calvin's a bit odd himself, come to think of it."

"Who's Mr. Calvin?" Perdita asks.

"He owns the wool farm," the barman explains. "Mind, he's not here most of the time - I think he owns a few other places like it. He only stopped in for a drink the one time, and he was bloody unfriendly. Small place like this, most people know each other, but he didn't want to know any of us. Knocked back his drink and left. But he paid for it right enough - left a decent tip, too. And Fiona and Ned say there's no harm in him."

I guess it's my turn. "Who are Fiona and Ned?" I ask.

The barman looks astounded. "Who are Fiona and Ned? Well, the way you waved to 'em when you came in, I thought you'd already met." He nods in the direction of the group by the fire. "They look after the farm for Mr. Calvin when he's away - give the tours, take care of the sheep, that sort of thing. You probably ought to ask them about your gran."

I make sure to leave my own decent tip. I can't have the barman comparing me to Mr. Calvin. Especially if Calvin's who I'm beginning to think he might be.

Fiona and Ned greet us like old friends, which means Jackson and O'Connor must have already talked to them. I keep forgetting we're supposed to be them.

"Still no luck?" Ned asks sympathetically.

Perdita shakes her head. "It's almost as though she fell off the face of the earth," she says, letting her voice tremble a little for effect. "Poor Gran - I can't think what to do next!"

Fiona puts an arm around her. "There, dear, I'm sure she's all right," she says, exchanging a helpless look with Ned. "She didn't seem at all confused when she toured the farm, although she did ask some rather odd questions."

I'll just bet she did. "Like what?" I ask.

"She was far more interested in the house - and even the barn - than she was in the sheep," Ned explains. "Fiona found her wandering around on the grounds, peering in the windows."

Perdita catches my eye. "The windows of your house?" she asks.

Fiona laughs. "Not ours," she says. "I wouldn't live in that monstrosity of a place if you paid me! Imagine the housework! Ned and I have our own cottage on the grounds. It's small, but it suits us."

"Do you know, I wonder if that's what set her off," I say to Perdita.

"Quite possibly," Perdita says, managing to conceal the fact that she doesn't have any idea where I'm going with this.

I turn to Ned and Fiona. "This is going to sound awfully strange, but I wonder if you'd mind terribly just showing us where you found her," I say. "You see, when Gran was a child she lived in a big old house, and sometimes she forgets what year it is, and well - sometimes she thinks it's her house. If I could get a look at it, I'd know for sure."

"But how would that help you?" Ned asks, looking confused.

My powers of invention desert me immediately. I look hopefully at Perdita.

"Because the last time Gran saw a house she thought was hers, she went straight to - er, Dorset," Perdita says. "We finally found her in a tea shop."

It sounds a bit weak, but Ned and Fiona nod understandingly. "It's too dark for you to really get a proper look at it," Fiona says. "Wouldn't you rather wait till morning?"

"If it's all the same to you, we'd rather do it straight away," I say. "We can see well enough by wand light."

Fiona and Ned must think our gran's not the only mad one in our family by now, but they very kindly agree to escort us to the house.

"Monstrosity's a good word," I say under my breath, looking at the large dark shape looming in front of us.

Perdita elbows me to be quiet. "Where was Gran when you saw her?" she asks Fiona.

"Just at the library window," Fiona says. "It's round the side here."

Perdita and I both light our wands and put them up against the dirty windows. I nearly jump out of my skin when I see a man looking back at me.

"Oh, " I realize sheepishly. "It's just a portrait."

Perdita puts her nose right against the glass. "Who is it?" she asks, not turning. "The portrait, I mean."

"Why, that's Mr. Calvin," Ned says. "He owns this place."

I take a closer look, but since I haven't any idea what Caradoc Dearborn looks like, it doesn't do me much good. I'll bet Persimmon knew him, though. If that's a portrait of him, she'd know it.

Perdita bends down to tie her shoe, fumbling with the laces in the dark. "There's nothing else," she whispers to me. "Let's go."

"Thanks for everything," I say hastily to Fiona and Ned. "This place doesn't look much like Gran's house, but I reckon she might have gone to Dorset anyway."

Perdita stops when we're halfway down the lane. "I think we'd better go back to London," she says to me.

"Why?" I protest. "We ought to try and find out who else was on the tour with Persimmon. Someone might easily have seen what happened to her."

"I have a pretty good idea of what happened to her already," Perdita says grimly. She glances around, then reaches down and pulls something out of her sock. "Look - I found this on the ground."

It's a wand. "Persimmon's?" I ask.

"I can't be sure," Perdita says. "But it's short like hers, isn't it? And if it is…"

"Then she's probably in that house," I say, half turning to go back.

"Then we need more than just the pair of us," Perdita corrects, grabbing my arm. "I think we'd better go back and get reinforcements."

"That could take ages," I argue. "Persimmon's in danger. And we're already here." I think for a second. "Know who else is already here? Jackson and O'Connor. Four of us ought to be enough."

Perdita's silent for a minute or two. "Okay," she says finally.

Now I'm the one who's hesitating. After all, she's been through a rough time over the past couple of days. And she's got a brand-new baby at home, too. Maybe she doesn't feel comfortable just diving into all this again. "Are you sure you're all right?" I ask.

Perdita glares at me. "I'm perfectly fine!" she snaps.

Right, then. "I'll send a Patronus," I say hastily. "Will we have them meet us here?"

**Hermione**

I'm quite fond of Persimmon, and naturally I understand that someone has to look for her, and Ron and Perdita are really the only ones who can be spared - but I wish I could have gone with them instead of staying here to face a relentless barrage of owls. A large, officious-looking post owl has just joined the rather scruffy lot already perched on the window sill.

"Ooh, see the owls!" Ginny says, holding the baby up to the window.

Baby Ron yawns, unimpressed. Maybe I should let him do the interview with Rita.

"The post one might be important," I say, reluctantly flicking my wand at the window to open it.

"It'll be Mum again," Ginny says. "She uses post owls in between times, to give Errol a rest."

As far as I know, Errol's still asleep in the kitchen. The letter's addressed to Ginny - and the handwriting is Molly's.

"I'd better write to her," I decide. "Ron and I were going to go round there this afternoon, but he might not be back in time."

The post owl blinks at me and settles on the back of my chair. Evidently it's going to wait. I Summon parchment and quill and compose a hasty note telling Molly that everything's all right, that Ron's all right, and that we'll both come to the Burrow at the weekend to explain everything.

"That might hold her, but I wouldn't count on it," Ginny says cynically. "Bill and George have both owled me, too, and I'm sure Mum'll be on to them as soon as she gets your letter. You and Ron will probably be telling your story to the whole family."

I don't care. I've missed the Weasleys. "Will you help me with the press release?" I ask, shooing Rita's owls away from the window.

"I've been composing it in my head all morning," Ginny says. "Here, you give the baby his bottle while I write it down."

It doesn't take her long. The baby's only halfway through his bottle when Ginny offers to read the press release out to me.

"That's quite good," I say, impressed. "It sounds like something you'd read in the _Daily Prophet_."

"Likely you will," Ginny says with a grin. "It's easy enough to write that stuff, Hermione. I used to rewrite all the Quidditch match recaps from the _Prophet_ for the girls on the Harpies, just because that git who writes them annoyed all of us so much. He never got any of our names straight, let alone the goals or - why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because contrary to what you believe, it's not at all easy to write for publication," I tell her. "I had a dreadful time trying to write a press release for the Wolfsbane Project, and the editors ended up changing the whole thing anyway." Actually they cut out most of it, which I still think was a mistake. I mean, it takes _at least_ a dozen rolls of parchment to adequately describe a project of that size.

Ginny looks amused. "Maybe I'll offer my services to the sports editor," she says jokingly. "I couldn't be any worse than the one they've got now."

"I think you'd be a good deal better," I say.

"Let me have Baby Ron again," Ginny says, changing the subject, but her expression is thoughtful as she cuddles him. I'm not sure if she took me seriously or not, but I meant what I said. Ginny needs something of her own - something to take the place of the Harpies.

I find Pig and tie the press release around his leg. He twitters importantly, excited to be going on an errand. It's not far to the Wizarding Wireless studios, and Lee's bound to recognize Pig straight away.

"Off you go, and mind you come straight back," I say, opening the window.

Pig gives the scruffy Rita-owls a disparaging look before flying off. I slam the window again before they can get in.

"Just let them deliver the letters," Ginny advises. "It's freezing out there."

I open the window a crack and stick my hand out. "Give them to me and go," I say sternly. I toss the letters on the table. "Rita, Rita, Rita again, _Witch Weekly_ - goodness, the _Quibbler_?"

"At least Xeno won't be asking about your love life," Ginny says, giggling. "He probably wants to know if Ron saw any Blibbering Humdingers while he was away."

I unroll Xeno's letter, curious. "It's not about Blibbering Humdingers," I say, scanning the single sheet of parchment. "It's about vampires - and I really think Harry needs to see it."

**Harry**

"I suppose I can arrange it," Percy says. He reaches for a quill and then stops. "And you might tell Ron that his family is _very_ concerned about him, and that if he had the _least_ shred of common decency - "

"He and Hermione are planning to go round to the Burrow and explain everything to your parents," I say quickly.

"Thank Merlin for that," Percy says, looking relieved. "Mum's been driving me right round the bend ever since that picture showed up in the _Prophet_. As if I knew any more than she does!" He eyes me. "I suppose there's nothing _you_ can tell me, Harry?"

"Ron was on an undercover mission for the Aurors, and Hermione knew about it the whole time," I say, relenting. I know what Molly's apt to be like - Ginny and I received a few owls from her, too. "Only mind you keep it to yourself - or at any rate, don't say anything to anyone outside the family, all right?"

"George said all along that they hadn't split up," Percy says resignedly. "I suppose he'll never let me live it down." He scribbles something on the form in front of him and pushes it across the desk to me. "Have Ron bring this with him to the Bulgarian Ministry. I'll need to wait to hear back for official permission, but I shouldn't think there'd be a problem. They've been very cooperative in the past. Will you need an International Portkey?"

"Can you make sure no one knows about it?" I ask, a little doubtfully.

Percy looks affronted. "Of course," he says. "Viktor Krum needed to arrange a Portkey some time ago, and we were _very discreet_ about it. The Bulgarian media follow him, you know."

"Maybe you should put Krum's name on the request for this one, too," I suggest. "Just in case."

I hear Ron's voice just as Percy starts to answer. "Thanks, Percy," I say, getting up hastily.

I hurry to the deserted stairwell and pull the mirror out of my pocket. "Any sign of her?" I whisper.

Ron's answer isn't quite what I'd expected. "Have you ever seen a picture of Caradoc Dearborn?" he asks. "Oh, and do you think you'd recognize Persimmon's wand?"

Ten minutes later I've finally gotten the whole story out of him. "When Jackson and O'Connor get there, I want the four of you to stay out of sight and wait for me," I direct. If Dearborn's there and he's got Persimmon, we can't afford a single mistake.

"What about the picture?" Ron says.

"Sirius had a photograph of the original Order members," I remind him. "It's pretty old, but it'll have to do." Always assuming I can find it, of course. "And I haven't any idea about Persimmon's wand, but Mr. Ollivander would know."

"Send George to ask him," Ron suggests. "He's already in Diagon Alley - it'll be faster."

I've no sooner put the mirror away when a silver otter appears in the stairwell. It swims around me in a circle, apparently checking to see that I'm alone, before speaking.

"I've just gotten a very strange letter, Harry," the otter says in Hermione's voice. "I really think you'd better come home and have a look at it."

I groan to myself. I can't possibly - only I'm going to have to go home and look for the photograph anyway, so -

Wait. I haven't got to go anywhere.

"The fireplace in my office is not part of the Floo Network," Gawain told me once, a few years ago. "However, as the Head of the Auror Department, I've been given special dispensation to do as I see fit with it. I'm able to temporarily set up a connection to any other fireplace, providing I use a specific charm." He'd told me what it was before adding, "You will now conveniently forget that I ever told you any of this."

His expression had been so forbidding that I'd immediately put the entire conversation out of my head. But now I'm the Head of the Auror Department.

Five minutes later, I'm peering into the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. My wife nearly drops Perdita's baby at the sight of me.

"Hi, sweetheart," I say apologetically. "It's just me. Do you remember what we did with that old box of photographs?"

Hermione recovers first. "Read this," she demands, shoving a letter perilously close to the flames.

"Read it to me," I suggest. "Ginny, I really need that picture of the original Order. Have you any idea where it could be?"

"I'll look," Ginny says, handing the baby to Hermione and hurrying out of the room.

Baby Ron appears mildly surprised to see a disembodied head in the fireplace. He regards me steadily as Hermione begins to read. I'm so absorbed in making faces at him that it takes me a minute to realize what she's saying.

"Hang on," I say abruptly. "Read that bit again."

_"'Luna and her friend Rolf have tracked the elusive Snorkack to the mountainous regions bordering Romania,'"_ Hermione repeats, unable to restrain an eye-roll at the word "Snorkack". _"'Luna writes that there are numerous legends about a group of vampires living deep in the mountains. The locals report sighting a lone man apparently traveling in that direction not long ago. Sadly, they were unable to reach him in time to warn him, and they fear he has met his end. I hope to travel to the area myself soon to interview these people for a future article. I remember your interest in the subject, so I thought I would mention it while passing along Luna's regards.'" _Hermione stops reading and looks at me. "Harry, they must have seen Gawain!" 

**Ron**

"Must you two look like us?" Jackson says. "It's making me feel really odd. And Dara here might get confused and think you're me."

"Nothing confusing about it," I say. "I'm much better-looking as you than you are." But I pull out my wand and remove my Jackson disguise. Perdita does the same with her O'Connor one.

"We had to be you two so we could talk to Fiona and Ned," she explains. "And it's just as well we did, or we would have missed Persimmon's wand. If it_is_ hers, of course."

"It was clever of you," Jackson admits. "We didn't find a damned thing. Mind, they didn't let us anywhere near the house."

I glance over my shoulder. "We saw Ned and Fiona heading back to the pub about five minutes ago," I say. "Is there anyone else on the premises?"

"Just the boy who looks after the sheep, but I don't think he sleeps here," O'Connor answers. She's staring at me, wide-eyed.

"He sleeps with the sheep by the smell of him," Jackson says. "But he's none too bright – I don't think we need to worry about him." He catches O'Connor staring and laughs. "Go on, Dara, ask him," he says teasingly. "You know you want to."

It's dark, but I'm pretty sure O'Connor's blushing. "It's okay," I tell her. "It's a really good story, but for now let's just say I was undercover." I grin at them, pausing for effect. "At Durmstrang."

They both start to ask me something at once, but I hold up a hand for silence. I'm pretty sure I just heard a faint popping noise.

"If I were a Brotherhood member, you'd all be dead," Harry's voice says mildly.

"There's no one about," Jackson says quickly. "We did a thorough search of the area before we joined Weasley and McGillicuddy. And we set up Intruder Alert Charms to warn us if anyone approached. Which – er – didn't work for some reason." He looks slightly embarrassed.

"It wasn't your spell," Harry assures him. "It was the Invisibility Cloak." He pops his head out from under the Cloak, and a rooster crows loudly from what sounds like directly behind me. "See?"

"All right, Weasley?" Jackson says, grinning at me.

He can bloody well shut it. I just started a bit – it's not like I fell over or anything. "Roosters don't crow at night, idiot," I say to him.

Harry's ignoring us. "Let's have a look at the wand you found," he says to Perdita.

She hands it over. "Is it Persimmon's?" she asks anxiously.

Harry lights his own wand and looks it over. "Is this walnut?" he asks, after a moment.

"This is," Jackson says, holding out his wand to compare. "Looks about the same, doesn't it?"

"Then this is probably hers," Harry says. "Mr. Ollivander says Persimmon's wand is seven inches, walnut, with a unicorn hair core."

I stuff Persimmon's wand in my inside pocket to keep it safe for her. Amazing how Ollivander remembers them all, isn't it? I mean, I couldn't even tell you what wands everyone in my family's got. "We've got to search that house," I say. "They could be holding her in there. Or – or something." I don't like to say what I mean by "or something", but I can tell by the silence that the others all know what I'm thinking.

"Ron and I will search the house," Harry says. "The rest of you, keep watch. If we send up red sparks, it means we're in trouble. Send someone back for reinforcements, and the other two move in as backup. Decide now who's going to go for help."

Jackson and O'Connor both look at Perdita.

"Fine," Perdita says with a sigh. "But I keep telling you, I'm perfectly fit."

"It's nothing personal," O'Connor says placatingly. "It's just that he's my partner."

I decide maybe we'd better move before Perdita gets a chance to point out that I'm _her_ partner. "Ready?" I say to Harry.

Harry holds up the edge of the Cloak so I can get under. "Let's do this," he says.

**Hermione**

"It's all very well for Harry to say I can just send Luna a Patronus warning her," I say to Ginny. "But you know how Luna is. If she thinks they're on the track of some ridiculous imaginary creature, she'll just ignore me."

"Luna may be a bit eccentric, but she's not an idiot," Ginny says soothingly. "If you make it clear that they could be in danger, I'm sure she'll listen."

"Or she'll think they're perfectly safe because she's wearing dirigible plum earrings or something," I say, but I feel a bit better. Ginny's right. Luna's odd, but she's very intelligent. In her own sort of way.

I send a Patronus, wording it as strongly as I can. "There," I say. "That's all I can do." I glance involuntarily at my watch. It's late at night in New Zealand.

Ginny sees me looking, but she only says, "I've got some decorating magazines left from when Harry and I were doing this place over. Will we have a look through them and get some ideas for your house?"

"We can't afford to spend much," I say, but I welcome the distraction. "I would like new curtains, though – Mrs. Fawcett's taste is a bit frillier than mine – and the wallpaper in the dining room's awful, wait'll you see it."

"This one's the best," Ginny says, tossing me a magazine. "And if I were you, I'd take the wallpaper out and just have painted walls."

I'm absorbed within a few minutes, and I'm startled when I raise my eyes and see a silver hare forming in front of me. "Hermione, it's me, Luna," the hare says. "It's sweet of you to worry, but really, we're quite all right. And I'm sure I saw Snorkack tracks yesterday – only it's snowed since then and I can't see them anymore."

Evidently that's the whole message, because the hare fades from sight. I roll my eyes at Ginny.

"You should have told her Snorkacks are terrified of vampires and tend to avoid areas where they might run into them," Ginny says, grinning.

"They don't avoid _anything_ because they don't exist," I say firmly. "Honestly – Luna!"

"At least they know to look out," Ginny says, but she looks worried too. She turns her head, "I think I hear the baby."

Goodness, I forgot all about him. Ginny's going to be a better mother than I am, obviously. I start to offer to fetch him, but Ginny's already hurrying out of the room. Just as well, really – he probably needs changing.

Kreacher materializes out of seemingly nowhere. "Kreacher has lunch on the table for his mistress, but Mistress is not here,' he remarks, peering intently into a corner as if expecting to see Ginny hiding there.

"She's just gone up to see to the baby," I say. "She'll be right back."

"Mistress needs to eat a proper diet, not be running up and down the stairs and wearing herself to skin and bones," Kreacher tells the fireplace.

Ginny's hardly skin and bones. "She'll be here any minute," I say. "In fact, why don't I go tell her and – "

I break off in mid-sentence as a silvery vapor swirls in front of me. _Ron,_ I think automatically, but it's Luna again.

"Hermione, thank goodness someone knows where we are," the hare says breathlessly. "They made me say that before – but we're not all right at all. We need help. We're in a cave of some sort; it's – "

The hare vanishes abruptly.

Kreacher's eyes meet mine. "Kreacher thinks Miss Luna is in trouble, Miss," he says.

"Yes, " I say. "I'm afraid you're right."

And it's really quite ironic, isn't it? I mean, here I was, worrying that Ron was going to go off by himself looking for those vampires. And now it looks as though it's going to be me.

**Harry**

There's no one about. _"Alohomora,"_ I whisper, pointing my wand at what Ron says is the library window.

It opens at once with a creaking noise that must be audible for miles around. I fire a hasty Silencing Charm at it.

"_That_ hasn't been opened in a while," Ron whispers.

"If they took Persimmon into the house, they didn't go this way," I agree. I place both hands on the sill and hoist myself up. "Let me have a quick look first."

The library's clearly empty, except for a few shelves of books and the large portrait on the wall. I signal for Ron to follow me, then make my way over to it. I raise my wand, trying to make out the features.

Ron joins me. "Were you able to find that photograph?" he asks.

I hand it to him. "Doesn't exactly help much, does it?" Ron says after a moment.

"They've both got blue eyes," I offer, taking the photograph back and studying it.

"So have I, and I know _I'm_ not Dearborn," Ron says. "Eyes don't tell you anything. It's noses, really. See how this bloke's is a bit crooked, just like Dearborn's?"

"Is it, or is it just a blob of paint?" I say doubtfully. The portrait's not terribly well-done, and I wonder briefly why Dearborn even went to the bother of hanging it. Maybe that's why it's here instead of at his estate.

"Let's ask him," Ron suggests. He looks at the portrait, which has been oddly still. "Are you called Dearborn?"

There's no response. "It must be a Muggle painting," Ron says with interest. "I don't think I've ever seen one before. Are they all this badly done?"

I turn away. I can't tell if it's Dearborn or not. "There's nothing in here," I say. "Let's search the rest of the house."

The other rooms yield nothing. The house is sparsely furnished, with just a bed and a wardrobe in one of the bedrooms, and a table and two chairs in the kitchen.

"No food," Ron says, opening a cupboard. "Well, the barman said the owner didn't come here very often."

"He was here a few days ago," I remind him. "Or someone was."

"Funny, though," Ron says. "It looks like no one's been in this place for ages."

"It does, doesn't it?" I stare thoughtfully at the floor, and something catches my eye. There's a faint outline that looks almost like…

"Help me move the table," I say to Ron.

"_Locomotor_ table," Ron says, grinning at me. "I can do magic, did you know?"

But I'm already dropping to my knees. "I was right," I say. "It's a trap door." I flick my wand at it. _"Alohomora!"_

There's no creaking noise this time. The trap door opens instantly, revealing a flight of rickety-looking stairs that disappear into the darkness below.

Ron and I both light our wands and lean over, trying to see. "Let's just hope it isn't like the last trap door we went through," Ron whispers. "Neither of us has a hope in hell of solving a logic problem without Hermione."

He's halfway down the stairs before I realize he's going. I feel as though I should have insisted on going first, but it's too late now. I concentrate on the small point of light from his wand, following its progress with my eyes.

"I think this is a lamp," Ron calls softly. There's a small crash. "Damn it," Ron says. _"Reparo."_

It's his best charm – he's had quite a lot of practice with it. A moment later, a light flares from below.

"Anything down there?" I ask.

"You've got to see this place," Ron answers. "It makes Parkinson's hideout look like a cell in Azkaban."

I glance around, but the house is still silent. I hurry down the stairs.

The room is flooded with light by the time I get there. "So this is what they did with all the furniture," I say after a minute. It's an understatement – the room is comfortably, even luxuriously furnished.

"Bit like my rooms at Durmstrang, really," Ron says thoughtfully. "Except for the bit about being underground. And I didn't have a kitchen." He makes his way to a corner that holds a sink and a small stove and peers thoughtfully into the oven. "This is cold – no one's cooked anything in it recently."

I head the other way, toward the bedroom alcove. The large four-poster bed is rumpled, as though someone was lying on it. I start toward it and accidentally kick something that makes a small metallic noise as it rolls under the bed.

I crouch down to retrieve it. "Ron," I say, holding up a knitting needle.

"No way to tell if it's hers, though," Ron says, joining me. "Not like a wand, or – Harry, look!"

I scramble to my feet. He's pointing to one of the bed posts, and it takes me a second to realize that the scratches on it are actually letters.

"C D," I read aloud. "Caradoc Dearborn!"

"There's more over here by the wall," Ron says, holding his wand up against the rough brick so he can see it better. "Portkot – no, potkat… that can't be right."

"Portkey?" I suggest. "If it was Persimmon who wrote this, she may have been trying to tell us that Caradoc Dearborn was planning to take her somewhere using a Portkey."

Ron looks around in dismay. "Anything in this bloody place might be a Portkey," he protests. "It'll take us hours to test everything."

Fair point. "Let's go back upstairs," I say. "I'll take the Cloak and go fetch one of the others to help us."

Back upstairs, I pull the Cloak over my head and open the library window. "It might not take long with three of us," I say hopefully.

Ron's still staring at the portrait. "This has got to be Caradoc Dearborn," he says, jabbing it with a finger. "Otherwise, why would – "

Just like that, he's gone. The portrait glows for a second, then turns dark.

I waste a few seconds in staring after him in shock before I recover enough to lean out the window and send a shower of red sparks into the night.

**Hermione**

"You're quite sure this is the right place?" George says, looking around dubiously at the desolate landscape.

"It has to be," I say. I hold out the map. "Look, there's the village below us, and that mountain range there has to be where the cave is."

"And this is the map that _Ron_ drew?" George says, looking skeptical. "My brother, Ron?"

I glare at him. "It's a perfectly good map, and everything is clearly labeled," I say. Honestly. Ron's brothers never give him credit for anything. I never even meant to bring George, but he showed up at Grimmauld Place just as I was leaving and insited on accompanying me.

"I take it back," George says hurriedly. "It's the best map I ever saw. Professional-looking, even."

I have to smile. "It isn't perfect, but I know it's right," I say. "Anyway, this all looks exactly the way it did on the map Anya showed us."

George looks confused. "Who?"

"Ron's favorite student at Durmstrang," I explain. "Anyway, she said her grandmother lived in that village and that the Romanian Ministry made Paienjen go into the mountains, and – "

George isn't listening. _"Durmstrang?"_ he repeats. "_That's_ where he was?"

"Yes, but there isn't time to explain it all now," I say impatiently. "We need to find Luna and Rolf. Luna said they'd been taken to a cave, so it must be up there." I point to the mountains. We aren't as close as I'd thought – it's going to take at least an hour if we walk.

"We'd better Apparate," George says, seeming to guess my thoughts. "Can you do a Disillusionment Charm?"

I look at him.

"Sorry," George says hastily. "Forgot who I was talking to for a second. Right, then – shall we say the base of the mountains?"

**Ron**

Everything spins for a minute, and then I land on a hard, unforgiving surface. _At least we know which one the bloody Portkey is,_ I think, trying to clear my head. It's dark all around me, and the ground feels rough and cold.

I start to stand up and then freeze abruptly as I sense movement. "Did you hear that?" a man's voice whispers. "I think there's someone else in here."

I hold my breath, listening. "I heard it, too," a woman's voice says. A familiar woman's voice. "Hello? Is someone here?"

"Luna?" I say in disbelief. "Where the hell are we – and what are you doing here?"

"Ron, is that you?" Luna says, sounding relieved. "You are clever – I didn't think you'd be able to find us so quickly."

"No offense, but I didn't exactly set out to look for you," I say. "I touched a Portkey – I think."

"Then Hermione didn't send you?" Luna says.

Why the hell would Hermione have sent me? Typical Luna, isn't it?

"Luna was able to send off a Patronus before they took her wand," the man says.

Now I'm really confused. "That you, Rolf?" I say. "Before who took her wand? Where are we? And who did she – oh, no. Please tell me you didn't send it to Hermione."

"She sent me one first," Luna explains. "Warning us about vampires – but it was a bit too late. They let me have my wand to send an answer telling her we were all right, although obviously we weren't all right at all. I did think of trying to Stun one of them, but they were holding Rolf and I was afraid they'd hurt him."

"So Hermione thinks you're okay?" I say, relieved. That means she won't do anything stupid like come after them on her own.

"Oh no, I shouldn't think so," Luna answers. "Because there was some sort of commotion outside and they all went to see, so I sent her another one saying we'd been captured and taken to a cave. They came back when I was in the middle, so I wasn't able to tell her very much. That's why I was so surprised to see you. Well, not _see_ you, because I can't really see anything in here, but – "

"We need to get out of here," I say, cutting her off. I'm still not sure where we are, but it doesn't exactly sound good, does it? "Both of you grab my arm and we'll Disapparate."

Only it doesn't quite work that way. "They must have set up some sort of Anti-Disapparation spell," I say at last, defeated. "Look, I reckon it'll still be all right. We'll just find our way out of here and then we can – "

"Oh, I'm afraid that won't be possible," a new voice says. "You are my guests."

I fling a Stunning Spell in the direction of the voice, just as something grabs me from behind. Something with ice-cold hands. "Drop the vand," it hisses in my ear. "Drop it or I vill bite you. You vill be dead before you can turn around. And in any case, you cannot kill me." It laughs, and its breath is like dry ice on my neck. I drop my wand, feeling faintly sick as I hear it roll away.

_"Accio,"_ the first voice says. "I'll just keep this for you, shall I? Now, let's see who we have here." A lamp flares, and I get my first look at the owner of the voice.

"Caradoc Dearborn," I say involuntarily.

He was looking at Rolf and Luna, huddled together in a corner, but he turns when I say his name. A flash of uncertainty crosses his face. "Arthur?" he says, startled.

Bloody hell – he thinks I'm Dad. I guess Dad still had all his hair in the days when Dearborn knew him. "Er, no," I say, unsure whether saying I'm a Weasley is a good move or not. I'm guessing it's not.

Dearborn passes a hand over his face. "No, of course not," he says. "It's been so many years – he'd be old now, like I am."

But he continues to stare at me like he's seen a ghost. "Would you mind asking your friend here to let go of me?" I say. "Seeing as you've got my wand and all."

"So you're not fond of vampires," Dearborn remarks. "I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place, then." But he gestures at the thing behind me, and after a second I feel the icy-cold hands leave my shoulders.

"Soon," the thing whispers in my ear as it reluctantly lets go.

My shoulder feels like it's frostbitten. I manage not to rub it, but it's an effort. _Not if I can bloody help it,_ I tell the vampire silently.

Dearborn's turned back to Rolf and Luna. "Only one of you came through the portrait," he says. "How did the others get here?"

"We didn't come here on purpose," Luna assures him. "We were looking for the Snorkack tracks we saw yesterday and your vampires grabbed us."

"The what tracks?" Dearborn says, momentarily off-balance. But he recovers quickly. "They aren't my vampires. I have an agreement with them, nothing more."

"Then if you don't mind, we'd like to leave," Luna says politely.

Dearborn shakes his head. "The Romanian Ministry has ordered Paienjen and his band to remain in these caverns, but they placed no restrictions on what might befall anyone who was foolish enough to wander in of his own volition," he says. "The local villagers know to avoid the place. I'm surprised they didn't warn you."

Rolf and Luna exchange guilty looks.

"Well, then you've no one to blame but yourselves," Dearborn says. "I couldn't help you if I wanted to – which I don't." He turns away, dismissing them. "You," he says to me. "How did you come across my portrait and why did you use it to come here?"

I really don't like the way he's pointing his wand right at my head. "It was an accident," I say. It was, actually. We may have been looking for the Portkey, but I wasn't exactly planning on using it just then.

"In order to have gained access to the portrait, you would have had to break into my house," Dearborn says coldly. "There's nothing to attract an ordinary burglar, and the house itself is somewhat inaccessible. Therefore, I must conclude that you were looking for something – or someone. Supposing you explain." He flicks his wand at me, and I move aside just in time. Red sparks strike the wall of the cave behind me.

I think wildly of trying the lost grandmother story on him, but he's hardly going to swallow that one. "I was looking for you," I say boldly.

**Harry**

We all try the Portkey, but it's no good. "Ron must have done something to trigger it," Perdita says at last. "Do you remember exactly what he was doing when it activated?"

"I wasn't even looking at him," I admit. "I was getting ready to come after one of you lot to help us look for the Portkey."

"It isn't a Portkey, really," O'Connor points out. "If it were, Ron would have taken it with him."

"Whatever it is, it seems to work the same way," Jackson says. "Wonder where it goes?"

"I thought it might lead to Dearborn's estate here in New Zealand," I say. "Did you two manage to find it?"

Jackson and O'Connor look at each other. "Someone was having you on, mate," Jackson says. "If we'd followed that map you gave us, we'd have ended up in the middle of the ocean."

Damn Malfoy, anyway. I wonder if he did it on purpose, or if he couldn't remember where Dearborn's house was. Somehow I think it's the first one.

"Harry, I think _this_ is his estate," O'Connor says. "The organic wool farm, and the house. Although it doesn't seem as though he spends much time here." She reaches over and brushes a cobweb from Perdita's hair.

"You ought to see what he's got it in the cellar," I say absently. If this is Dearborn's only property in New Zealand, then where does the Portkey lead? Durmstrang? Or…

"We need the other map," I say aloud.

The others stare at me. "What map?" Perdita asks.

"The one Ron drew that shows where Paienjen's cave is," I explain, hoping desperately that it's not in Ron's pocket at the moment. "I think that's where the portrait leads."

Perdita catches on first. "I'll go back to Grimmauld Place and ask Hermione for it," she offers. "Even if we can't find it, Hermione might be able to draw it out for me again. She's awfully clever like that."

"Good," I say. I turn to Jackson and O'Connor. "You two, go and round up as many Aurors as you can," I say. "Pull Hestia off Lucius Malfoy – one of the junior Aurors can handle it – and get Hathaway from the Black Pearl, and –"

"We know," O'Connor assures me. "Will we send them all here?"

It's as good a place as any. "Be as quick as you can," I say.

I throw the Invisibility Cloak over myself when they've all gone. Just as well to be hidden, in case Dearborn or someone comes back through the portrait. I don't know if it works both ways, but it stands to reason it would.

I move back over to stand in front of it, trying to remember exactly what Ron did. He must have touched it, obviously, but where? And he was talking, wasn't he? I struggle to remember. Something about how the portrait had to be of Dearborn, because –

Abruptly, I remember the initials that Persimmon scratched on the bedpost. C.D.

"Caradoc Dearborn," I say aloud, resting my hand on the canvas.

I have a second to see the frame beginning to glow before I'm swept forward and into it.

**Hermione**

The mountains seem so much bigger now that I'm close to them.

"Hermione?" George whispers from about a foot away.

I manage not to jump. _"Muffliato,"_ I whisper back. "Where do you suppose the entrance is? I don't see anything."

"Look up," George says.

The sun's nearly blinding me, but suddenly I see what he sees. Three thestrals circle slowly above us. "They smell the blood," I say, feeling slightly sickened at the thought. "We must be near the vampires."

"You're quite sure you want to do this?" George says. "I mean, I'm not afraid or anything, but I don't fancy the idea of having to explain to Ron if you get captured by What's-His-Name."

"Paienjen," I say. "I'm not going to get captured by him. I don't even want to go near him if I can help it. I just want to find Luna and Disapparate with her."

"I don't want to go near him, either," George agrees promptly. "Well, will we try and find the entrance?"

"Watch for footprints," I say, starting forward. "I'd feel better if we knew for certain that Luna and Rolf had come this way."

"I don't see any human ones," George says. He's already several yards ahead of me. "Some sort of animal, maybe. Do those things walk, or just fly?"

He must mean the thestrals. Honestly. "Did you even _go_ to your Care of Magical Creatures classes?" I ask, exasperated.

George doesn't answer. "Hermione?" he says after a moment. "I see human prints now, too."

I hurry toward the sound of his voice. There are two sets of footprints in the snow – larger ones, which are probably Rolf's, and smaller ones, which must be Luna's. They seem to follow the animal tracks, criss-crossing them in several places.

"So this is what Snorkack tracks look like," George says.

"Don't you start," I warn. "Whatever they were following led them straight into trouble."

The tracks lead us almost up against the base of the mountain. Then they disappear.

"There's no entrance here," George says, sounding puzzled. "They can't have gone into your cave. Maybe they turned around or something."

"Or maybe something grabbed them," I say, almost in a whisper. "Something that doesn't leave prints."

George is silent for a moment. "There may very well be an invisible door here, but damned if I know how to find it," he says at last.

"Neither do I," I admit. "I suppose we could try a Revealing Spell."

"I wouldn't," George warns. "If you start throwing spells around, they'll know we're here."

I don't ask who "they" are. "We need to be sure we've got the right place before we do anything," I agree.

"Do you know, I may have thought of something," George says. I hear him rummaging through his pockets, and then something slithers through the snow.

"Invisible Ears!" I say. "Will it work?"

"No idea," George says cheerfully. "But if it doesn't, we're no worse off." I see the end of the Ears hanging in midair and hurry over to it.

"Ow!" George says. "That was my foot."

"Sorry," I say. "It's not as though I can see – "

I stop speaking abruptly as a voice reaches us clearly through the Ears. My husband's voice.

"Bloody hell," George whispers. "Is that Ron?"

I nod, forgetting he can't see me. But there's no need to answer. George knows it just as well as I do. But what's Ron doing here – and how are we going to save him? 

**Ron**

Whatever Dearborn expected me to say, it wasn't that. "You were looking for me?" he repeats, looking surprised. "Why? And who are you?" He takes a few steps closer to me. His wand is nearly touching my throat. "Don't bother lying," he warns. "It will only get you killed more quickly."

"I've no intention of lying," I say coolly, but my heart is pounding. "Why should I?"

"Answer my questions," Dearborn says. He moves the wand closer, so that the tip is just brushing my skin.

I think fast. "My name is Barney Weasley," I say, silently begging Luna to keep still. Good old Barney – I hadn't thought of him in years.

"I knew you were a Weasley," Dearborn says triumphantly. "Blood traitors, the lot of you."

"Not all of us," I say. "There are a number of issues I don't see eye-to-eye with my family on. The purity of the wizarding race is only one of them. And I'll remind you that the Weasleys are still one of the only remaining pureblood families, despite what some of my relatives may do."

"Not so pure anymore," Dearborn sneers. "One of your – brothers, is it? – married a Mudblood. The same Mudblood that helped Potter destroy the Dark Lord."

Hearing him call Hermione a Mudblood makes my blood boil, but I manage not to show it. "He's only a second cousin," I say carelessly. I manage a smirk. "I wasn't invited to the wedding."

Dearborn looks marginally less threatening. "So, you're the black sheep of the Weasley family," he says. "That doesn't explain what you're doing here – or how you knew to look for me. As far as your family knows, I've been dead for over twenty years."

"You don't look very dead to me," I say. "I found out about you the same way I find out about everything. By paying attention when certain people were talking."

Dearborn's eyes narrow. "What people?" he demands. "I've never heard of you before, so don't try to tell me you've been spending time with -" He stops in mid-sentence.

"With Jeremy Gamp or Simon Parkinson?" I finish for him. "No, I haven't been spending time with them. They won't have anything to do with me, thanks to my damned family. What I _have_ been doing is eavesdropping. That's what gave me hope."

"Hope for what?" Dearborn snaps.

"Hope that there was still a chance," I say. "The Dark Lord may be gone, but when I discovered that a new leader was emerging, I was determined to find out who you were." I'm sort of making myself feel sick, talking like this, but Dearborn seems to be falling for it.

"And now that you have found me?" he asks. He's still got his wand to my throat, but his hand has gone slack.

"Now I want to offer my services to you and to the Brotherhood of Blood," I say.

"Your services," Dearborn repeats slowly. "I'm sure you have many _valuable_ skills to offer." It's definitely a sneer. He's actually sort of reminding me of Snape. Maybe they were friends or something.

I can hardly say I'm an Auror. "I'm good at finding things out," I say. "Like the way I found out about you and the Brotherhood. I'd be a good spy." As a matter of fact, I'm an excellent one – for the other side.

Dearborn appears to be thinking it over. "So you know things," he says after a moment. "Tell me something, then. Tell me something I don't know."

It's clearly a test. And if I fail… but I can't think about that. "Most of your lot have been arrested," I tell him. "There was a failed takeover attempt at the Ministry a few days ago."

"I said something I _don't_ know," Dearborn warns. The wand presses against my throat again.

"The reason the attempt failed is because Jeremy Gamp wasn't there," I say desperately. "And he wasn't there because he's dead."

"Dead?" Dearborn says, looking startled. "What makes you think so – and how would you know about it?"

"I told you," I say. "I'm good at finding things out. It's being kept quiet for now, but it'll be released to the media in a couple of days. I imagine they'll call it an accident, but… well, we know better, don't we?"

Dearborn looks more irritated than sorry to hear about Gamp. "Damned inconvenient of him," he says. "If you're telling the truth."

"Yeah, leaves you a man short, doesn't it?" I say sympathetically. "Lucky for you I showed up."

Dearborn eyes me. "Did you kill him yourself to make sure of a place?"

"No," I say steadily. "But if you like, I can find out who did."

Dearborn looks away for a second and I almost reach for Persimmon's wand, still hidden securely inside my cloak. But we're too close to Luna and Rolf – I don't dare risk it.

"Wait here," he orders peremptorily. "If Gamp is truly dead, I must make some arrangements. And if you haven't been lying to me, it's possible I can find a use for you after all."

"Excellent," I say, trying my best to look pleased.

Dearborn half turns, then glances at Rolf and Luna, still huddled in the corner. "If you were me, what would you do with them?" he inquires.

I shrug and grin at him. "The vampires ought to have some fun," I say. "Only fair, isn't it? But on the other hand…" I hesitate, trying to look like I'm deep in thought.

"On the other hand, what?" Dearborn says, turning back to me. His wand is at his side.

"Do you know, I think we can find a use for them after all," I say.

**Harry**

It's faster than a Portkey – one step and I'm there. The landing's no easier, though. I narrowly miss crashing into someone. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize it's Luna. She shoots a startled look in my direction, but has the sense to keep quiet. Rolf, next to her, isn't even paying attention. After a second, I realize he's focused on the scene playing out several feet away.

"I'm good at finding things out," Ron's saying to a man who can't be anyone but Caradoc Dearborn.

I consider a Stunning Spell, but Dearborn's wand is pressed against Ron's throat. One wrong move and he dies. I force myself to keep still and listen. Ron's playing Dearborn like a master – but will it work?

I glance around. I can't see much, but I'm pretty sure we're in a cave of some sort. Which means…

Something rustles in a far corner. A vampire? And are there more of them here, hidden in the depths of the cave?

Dearborn looks like he's starting to leave. I ready myself, just as he turns back.

I'm tempted to wait and see just what Ron's going to propose for Rolf and Luna, but Dearborn's wand is at his side and the opportunity's too good to be missed.

My spell hits the wall just behind where Dearborn was standing. He's gone.

"What the hell?" Ron says, breaking character. "Don't tell me you had a wand the whole bloody time, Luna?"

"No," I say, still under the Cloak. "I did."

"Took you long enough to get here, mate," Ron says, grinning in my general direction. "I was starting to think I was going to have to join the Brotherhood of Blood just to get out of here. I – "

He's cut off in mid-sentence as the thing in the corner leaps onto his back. "Show yourself and surrender your vand, or I vill rip out his throat," it hisses.

"Do you know," someone else says. "I don't think you will."

The vampire slides soundlessly to the floor as George Weasley steps forward, grinning. "Never thought I'd have to rescue my brother the Auror," he says teasingly.

"How on earth did you get here before us?" Hermione says, flinging her arms around Ron's neck. "That horrible thing didn't bite you, did it?"

"Oh, here we go," George says disgustedly. "That pair would snog in the middle of an earthquake. Hello, Harry – that _is_ you under there, isn't it? And is that Luna? We've been following your footprints."

"Did you see the Snorkack prints?" Luna asks eagerly.

George wisely lets that one alone. "What do you want us to do, Harry?" he offers.

I let the Cloak fall away. Even though we're a bit short on time, I can't help asking. "How the hell did you end up in this, George?"

George grins at me. "I stopped by the house just as Hermione was setting out, and it sounded like more fun than doing inventory at the joke shop," he says lightly. "Oh, I nearly forgot – Percy's owl showed up and left this for you."

He hands me a roll of parchment, which I stuff into a pocket without looking at it. It'll just be the approval for Ron to question Baranov and Kirilov – but after tonight, we might not even need it.

I motion George to one side. "The most useful thing you could do is get Luna and Rolf out of here," I say. I lower my voice. "Hermione, too."

Evidently I didn't lower it enough. "I'm not leaving," Hermione says, still clinging to Ron.

"The rest of the Aurors are on their way," I start, but then I realize they might not be on their way at all and stop speaking. I disappeared before anyone could get to Dearborn's house, and even if Perdita and Ginny were able to locate that map –

I look at Ron. "That map you drew," I start.

"I have it," Hermione answers.

Of course she does. Right, then.

I glance around just in time to see Ron casting a Petrificus Totalus charm on the vampire.

"Dearborn didn't take your wand?" I ask.

"I had a spare," Ron explains. "Persimmon's. Speaking of which, hadn't we better have a look for her?"

I gather my thoughts. Dearborn's gone – only we don't know where. We're in the cave that I'm fairly sure will lead us to Paienjen. I'm almost positive that Gawain is here somewhere – if he's still alive. We'll never get a chance like this again. But with this group?

I look them over again. Ron's one thing, obviously – he's an Auror. And Hermione might just as well be. George… well, the Weasleys are all good fighters. Luna was with us in the Department of Mysteries. She can fight when she needs to. Rolf is the only unknown quantity. I beckon to Ron.

"He did all right at Durmstrang," Ron says, even before I have a chance to ask. "I say we go for it, Harry. If we wait, they might kill Persimmon and Gawain."

If they're here. If they're still alive. But I don't say it. Instead, I turn to the others.

"Right," I say. "Here's the plan."

**Hermione**

Every brain cell I have is screaming "get out of here _now_," but I can't leave. I know Ron's an Auror and he faces dangerous situations every day, but I don't usually know about them. (At least, not until they're over.) This is different. I can't leave. Not now.

We all move closer to Harry, waiting.

"Someone needs to stay here and guard the entrance," Harry begins, looking straight at Rolf and Luna. "We don't know where Dearborn went. He may have Disapparated – "

"He can't have," Ron, Luna, and Rolf all say at the same time.

"Anti-Apparition charm?" Harry asks. "Then he must still be around somewhere. And anyone might come through that portrait at any time."

What portrait?

"Harry?" Ron says, before I have a chance to ask. "Where's the other end of it?"

"The other end of what?" Harry asks.

"The portrait," Ron says. "We both went through it and we ended up here, but how do you go back? "

The others are all nodding, but George looks as confused as I feel. "Did you get here through a Portkey or something?" he asks.

"Not a Portkey, exactly," Harry says, frowning. "It didn't come with us – it stayed. Ron's right – there ought to be another entrance that takes us back to Dearborn's house in New Zealand."

I'm still not entirely sure what they're talking about, but evidently they arrived here by touching something that wasn't exactly a Portkey. "Where did you – er – land?" I ask.

Harry and Ron look blankly at each other. "Dunno, exactly," Ron admits. "It was dark."

"It was near me and Rolf," Luna says helpfully. "I heard both of you falling on the ground."

"Hope I didn't scare you too much," Harry says to her.

"Oh, I knew it was you as soon as I couldn't see you," Luna says calmly.

I'm not even going to ask. "Where were you two, exactly?" I say to Rolf.

Harry and Ron join me in the spot he indicates, but even though we all light our wands and inspect every square inch of the cave wall, nothing appears.

"Maybe it's one-way," Harry says at last. "Is there any sort of charm that makes something turn into _almost_ a Portkey?"

Why is everyone looking at me? "How should I know?" I say. "I suppose if you didn't do the charm properly – but then it seems to me that it wouldn't work at all."

Harry shrugs. "Anyway, since we don't know exactly where it is or who might come through it, someone needs to stay here and guard the place. And that thing." He nods at the vampire, which doesn't seem to have regained consciousness yet. "Luna and Rolf, if you wouldn't mind?"

"I don't mind, exactly," Luna says. "Only I'm not going to be much use without a wand. The vampires took ours."

"That vampire?" George asks, nodding to the one on the ground.

"No, some others," Luna explains. "They went that way." She points vaguely into the depths of the cave.

Honestly. They might have said.

"How many?" Harry asks at once. "Did any of them tell you their names?"

Rolf shakes his head. "They weren't exactly chatty," he says. "But Luna's right. We haven't any wands."

"I'll stay with them," George volunteers. "I wouldn't mind having another look for that portrait thing. What am I going to find if I go through it?"

Harry looks slightly ill. "The Aurors," he says quietly. "I told them all to meet me there – and if Dearborn's gone back through to his house in New Zealand – "

"He'll be outnumbered," Ron says encouragingly, but he looks worried too.

Oh dear. But they're Aurors, after all – perhaps they can capture him without any trouble. The best we can do is just keep on and try to find Gawain and Persimmon. "What about the rest of us?" I say to Harry.

"You and Ron," Harry says. "Follow me."

Holding his wand high to light the way, he heads toward the back of the cave.

Ron's hand closes around mine. "All right?" he says in a low voice.

I look into his eyes and force a half-smile. "Like old times, isn't it?" I say.

**Ron**

There's an opening at the back of the cave – not a very big one, mind. We have to go single-file, and I have to duck down to get through without smashing my head on the rocks.

"Is it any wider up ahead?" I whisper to Harry. "Maybe we ought to get under the Cloak."

"Too narrow," Harry whispers back.

Harry goes first, with Hermione in the middle and me bringing up the end. I can't help looking over my shoulder a few times. Those bloody vampires come of nowhere, don't they? And there's no light at all back here, except from our wands.

Harry stops. "There's a fork," he whispers. "What do you reckon?"

I take advantage of the pause to cast a Supersensory Charm, which makes me feel slightly better. At least nothing's going to sneak up on me now.

Harry's looking at us expectantly. "Dunno," I say. "Will we flip a Knut to decide?"

"I think the path to the right leads us back outside," Hermione says. "The one on the left ought to bring us deeper into the mountain."

Oh. She's probably right. Harry nods and turns to the left.

You'd think it would get warmer if we're moving deeper into the mountain, but instead it seems to be getting colder. Hermione's probably warm enough – she's got my fur cloak from Durmstrang on – but Harry and I are both dressed for the mild weather in New Zealand. It's harder to walk now – the ground is rough and we all keep stumbling. I reach out to catch Hermione as she nearly trips over the hem of the cloak.

"That thing's at least a foot too long for you," I say.

"It's warm, though," Hermione answers. "It's just hard to hold it up and keep my wand-"

She breaks off at the sound of a scuffle ahead of us. "Harry?" she whispers sharply.

Something's got Harry. He's struggling, trying to get at his wand, but a vampire's got his arms pinned to his side.

"Do not dare," something hisses, just as Hermione and I start to raise our own wands. And then they're on us.

There are at least a dozen of them – maybe more. I try to fight them off, but their grip is like iron. "Fighting vill only make it vorse," the vampire whispers in my ear. The words feel like a cold breeze against my neck. "You vere foolish to come here."

I feel just as helpless as I did when Aragog's mates trapped me and Harry in the Forbidden Forest. Only this time it's worse because they've got Hermione. Her eyes meet mine for a moment. I've got to do something, only I can't think what. If I could just lift my arm long enough to fire off a curse or –

"Let us go," Harry says coolly. "We're here to speak with Paienjen."

One of the vampires – the one holding Harry – says something to the others in what sounds to me like Romanian. And then – amazingly – they let us go. Just like that.

I pull Hermione against my side and get my wand ready, but the vampires aren't even looking at us. They're all looking at Harry.

"Vhat is your business vith Paienjen?" the one who seems to be in charge asks him.

"That's between me and Paienjen," Harry says. "I can tell you that he won't be pleased to find out I've been attacked."

The vampires look uneasy. They all but shuffle their feet. "Ve vill take you to Paienjen," one of them says at last.

Bloody hell. I don't want these things hanging about. "Oh, no," I say quickly. "That really isn't nec-"

"Thank you," Harry says, still in that cool voice. "Will you lead the way?"

At least he said "lead" so they're not behind us. I keep one hand on Hermione's shoulder and the other on my wand as we follow the vampires through a tunnel that seems to get narrower with every step. After what feels like about an hour, they finally come to a stop in front of what looks like a wall of solid rock.

"Why are we stopping?" Harry asks, but the vampires don't answer. They seem to be arguing among themselves. I'll bet anything they're fighting about who has to be the one to tell Paienjen he's got company. Maybe I ought to suggest flipping a Knut.

Finally one of them steps forward reluctantly and draws its hand across the wall. Instantly a door appears. The vampire slips inside (still looking a bit reluctant) and the door immediately vanishes again. The others draw closer, encircling us without touching us.

I feel Hermione shiver as she edges close to my side. "Back off, can't you," I say to the vampires. They ignore me, of course, but it was worth a try.

Suddenly the door appears again, but it's a different vampire from the one who went in. This one's a good deal older. (At least, I think he is. It's a bit hard to tell, really – none of them are exactly bursting with health and youthfulness, are they?)

"Who vishes to see Paienjen?" it asks. It doesn't sound angry. If anything, it sounds sort of… interested.

"We do," Harry says, stepping forward.

The vampire looks him over. "Who are you?" it asks, raising a hand to lift the cloak back from its eyes so it can see us better.

I think Harry sees the spider tattoo on its hand at the same time I do. "Paienjen?" he says politely. "My name is Harry Potter."

**Harry**

Hermione's gasp is audible, but Paienjen pays no attention to her. "So," he says, sounding almost pleased. "Harry Potter. Often I have vundered about you. I did not think to be ever meeting you. For vhat are you seeking me out, here in my cave?"

"I'm sure you can guess why we're here," I say, managing somehow to hide my fear. I was pretty sure the others wouldn't touch us if they thought we had business with Paienjen, but there's nothing stopping him from giving them the order to surround us now.

Paienjen looks past me, seeming to notice Ron and Hermione for the first time. "More humans," he says, again sounding pleased. (Then again, why wouldn't he be? He probably looks on us as dinner.) "Who are your friends, Harry Potter? Could it perhaps be the so famous Ronald Veasley and Hermione Granger?"

"Weasley," Ron says, almost inaudibly. "Her name's Weasley."

Hermione shushes him, but Paienjen's already lost interest in them. "You and your friends are most velcome," he tells me, almost purring. "You vill join me for some refreshment, vill you not?"

Ron and Hermione exchange a look that tells me they're not going to be eating anything. "Thank you," I say politely.

The other vampires hover as Paienjen ushers us through the door, but a sweep of his arm drives them back. The room is dimly lit by a single candle in a sconce high on the wall, but I can make out two carved wooden chairs and a small table.

"You must forgive the darkness," Paienjen says as Hermione stumbles slightly on the hem of her fur cloak. "The light disturbs my eyes." He motions us toward the chairs.

"So," Paienjen says, seating himself on one of the carved chairs and looking at me expectantly. "Harry Potter has come to see Paienjen. And perhaps he is having another purpose, yes? Perhaps he is seeking somevun?"

"Perhaps," I acknowledge, but my heart starts beating faster. "Have you – er – seen any other humans here recently?"

"More than you vould think," Paienjen says. "But you are only seeking vun in particular. Is so, Harry Potter?"

He nods for us to sit down. I take the chair across from him. Ron and Hermione take the only other seat – a bench against the far wall.

"I am remiss," Paienjen says. "You vould like some tea, yes? Or perhaps vine?"

"Thanks, but we're all right," I say politely. "This other human – the one you think I'm seeking. Is he here?"

Paienjen looks past me. "Is not often that humans seek me out," he says. "Some are vanting my help, yes? And so they promise many things. But vhen they fail to deliver on their promise – then, Harry Potter, Paienjen is no longer their friend. Do you see?"

I think – I hope – that he might be telling me his agreement with the Brotherhood of Blood is over. "I believe so," I say cautiously, wondering what the Brotherhood promised that they couldn't deliver.

"Perhaps Paienjen vill make a new friend," the old vampire says craftily. "Perhaps he vill not. There is no hurry to decide. Time, it matters little vhen vun is immortal."

"I'm sure that's true," I say, wondering what the hell he's getting at.

"The man you seek," Paienjen says abruptly. "The Auror, is it not? Vhat vill you give Paienjen for him?"

Oh. That's where we were going. "Do you want gold?" I ask. "I can promise you – "

"Of vhat use is gold, here in my cave?" Paienjen interrupts. "Vhat I vant, Harry Potter, is my freedom."

"I have no influence with the Romanian Ministry," I say, wondering if I ought to pretend to think about it. But surely he'd know…

And he does. "In that case, perhaps you vill allow me some small amusements," Paienjen says philosophically. "The time often hangs heavy on my hands." He spreads them as he speaks, and I see the spider tattoo again.

"What sort of amusements?" I ask warily.

"A small vager, if you vill," Paienjen says. "If you and your friends can pass my little tests, I vill give to you Gawain Robards the Auror. If not…" He looks us over thoughtfully. "If not, then here you vill stay vith me – forever."

**Hermione**

I don't much like the sound of that. Forever… I suppose he means we'll be vampires, too. I'd rather die, I think, shuddering.

Ron's hand tightens on mine. "It'll be okay," he whispers, although I can't imagine why he thinks so.

"What sort of tests?" Harry's asking.

Paienjen strokes his chin thoughtfully, and I feel silently thankful that we're too far away to see the spider tattoo. "A game of chess, I think… and then perhaps a puzzle."

Ron draws in his breath. Thank goodness he's here. I couldn't beat a five-year-old at chess and Harry's no better. The puzzle, now…

Paienjen looks over at us suddenly, almost as though he's guessed my thoughts. "Oh, no, Mr. Veasley," he says smoothly. "I am no match for a Durmstrang chess master such as yourself."

Ron and I exchange a startled glance. How on earth did he know about that?

"I vill instead play against your so lovely vife," Paienjen continues. "You, Mr. Veasley, vill attempt to guess my puzzle."

This couldn't be any worse. I edge closer to Ron on the bench… and feel something thud against my hip. Something heavy - in the pocket of the fur cloak.

Oh, please, let it be… I reach in, scarcely daring to breathe, and draw out a glass bottle. I nudge Ron. "Distract him," I whisper.

"And what shall I do?" Harry's asking.

Ron aims his wand unobtrusively at the dim candle sconce on the wall, and it flares up suddenly, making the cavern as bright as day. Paienjen falls back, covering his eyes.

Harry glances sharply in our direction before turning back to Paienjen and repeating his question.

"I think vill be surprise," Paienjen says, still with his hand over his eyes. "If you vould not mind, Harry Potter – the candle. My eyes – the light – "

"Of course," Harry says smoothly. He gets to his feet rather than pulling out his wand. "Likely the candle wick's a bit long – I'll just have a look." He plans his route so that he passes close to us. He's just in time to see me Conjure a small glass and pour half of the Polyjuice into it. It's not very much, but it may get us through an hour. Ron leans over and gently plucks a hair from my head.

Harry's eyes widen, and he nods approvingly at us before moving (slowly) toward the wall sconce. "Ah, yes," he says loudly. "I see the problem now. It'll just be a moment…"

Goodness, I'd forgotten how ill Polyjuice makes me feel. And I'd forgotten how much bigger Ron is than I am, too. I do a quick Hover Charm on the fur cloak to block us from view and hurriedly kick off my shoes before they burst. "Jeans and trainers, quickly," I whisper to Ron. He's going to stretch my jumper horribly, but it can't be helped. At least it's an old one.

When we're reasonably presentable, Ron flicks his wand at the candle again, letting the flame die down.

"There we are," Harry says loudly. "It should be all right now."

"There must be a draft in here," Paienjen says fretfully, passing a hand over his eyes. "This light – is not good for us vampires."

Maybe not, but it was definitely good for us. It feels distinctly odd to watch myself cross the room and approach Paienjen.

"Right," Ron says, dropping down into Harry's vacant chair. "Let's play, then."

Harry joins me on the bench. _"Muffliato,"_ he whispers. "Hermione, that _is_ you, isn't it?"

"Yes," I say.

"Brilliant," Harry answers.

We both turn our attention to Paienjen, who's carefully setting a chess board on the small table. "Alvays I am black," he says to Ron. "Vhite, for you, is best. You vill see."

I can't see – not properly – but Ron looks unsettled when he gets a look at the chess pieces. I suppose they're horrible-looking. Oh dear, I should have told Ron to sit like a girl. Honestly. It's a good thing Paienjen didn't get a proper look at me earlier. Maybe he'll just think I'm not very feminine or something.

"He knew about Durmstrang," Harry says under his breath, and I nod.

I wonder what else he knows.

**Ron**

I thought I was used to turning into other people, but I've never been a girl before. At least it's Hermione. It would be just too weird if I had to be any other woman.

I risk a glance over my shoulder as Paienjen sets out the chess pieces, and things immediately get even weirder. There I am, sitting on the bench next to Harry. Only I'd never cross my legs like that – and I definitely wouldn't be twisting a strand of hair around my finger. Good thing Paienjen doesn't see very well.

I look back at the chess board and feel another jolt. The white pieces – mine – all look like wizards. Actually, they look like Durmstrang teachers, in miniature fur cloaks. But the black pieces – Paienjen's – are unmistakably vampires. The queen turns her head as if she feels my gaze. Looking straight at me, she lazily bares her fangs.

Bloody hell. I already feel sorry for the pieces that I'm going to have to sacrifice. It seems to me that they all look a bit apprehensive.

"Vell, Mrs. Veasley," Paienjen says, rubbing his hands together. "Ve shall see if your husband has taught you to be a good chess player."

Luckily I'm not my wife, because the answer to that would definitely be no. (Not that I haven't tried, but really she's hopeless.). I deliberately let a worried look cross my face. "Remind me," I say. "Am I supposed to go first, or are you?"

**Harry**

"There wasn't much Polyjuice," Hermione whispers. "He's going to have to win quickly."

Especially if she's going to have to work out a puzzle afterwards. Ron's doing a good job pretending he can't quite remember the rules. I get up and move a bit closer so I can observe. Maybe he's doing too good a job – it looks to me like he's in trouble.

Only he's not. I realize my mistake several minutes later. Ron's got Paienjen trapped. Painejen's eyes narrow dangerously as he comes to the same realization.

"So," he says softly. "You are an apt pupil, Mrs. Veasley."

"Oh my goodness," Ron says, pretending to be surprised. "I can't think how I've managed that."

Is it my imagination, or do the white chess pieces look slightly stunned at their victory? It almost seems as though they've never won before.

Paienjen gets slowly to his feet and sweeps the chessboard and pieces to the floor. I wait for an explosion, but after a moment he seems to regain control of himself. "Mr. Veasley, it is now your turn," he says sharply. "Your vife vas lucky – and perhaps I vas careless – but there is no room for luck here." He opens a small cabinet on the wall and removes a roll of parchment. "This, Mr. Veasley, is a puzzle of logic," he says, waving it in the direction of the bench. "Here you vill be able to use only your brain. For a man of action such as yourself, it vill be difficult to master. Sadly, you vill have only a short time." He pulls an hourglass from the cabinet and sets it carefully on the table. "You vill please join me over here."

Hermione pretends to be anxious as she takes Ron's place, but inwardly she must be delighted.

_"Muffliato,"_ Ron whispers, joining me on the bench. "She won't even need the whole hour. She does those bloody things for fun."

Hermione's idea of fun has always baffled me, but right now I couldn't be happier about her strange hobby. "Better be ready to fight," I whisper back. "He's going to be really angry when she solves it."

"There," Hermione says loudly, about ten minutes later. She sets her quill down and backs away from the table. "I expect it's wrong, but it's the best I can do."

She takes the precaution of scurrying back to the bench as Paienjen picks up the parchment. His face is tight with barely-suppressed rage as he scans it.

"So!" he says furiously. "So! But you, Harry Potter – " He turns and glares at me. His eyes are glowing – not red, like Hermione thought, but a sort of yellowish-green. "You vill not escape. Let the Veasleys go, then – vhat do I care about them? You are the vun vith the power, are you not?" He smiles at me – a chilling smile that bares his fangs. "Do you see the irony, Harry Potter? The Dark Lord vould have made himself immortal, and yet you vere able to destroy him. Now you vill yourself be immortal. Who, then, vill destroy you?"

I sincerely hope I won't need to find out. "You haven't said what you want me to do yet," I answer.

Paienjen smiles again. "Is easy, Harry Potter," he purrs. "You have only to rescue your friend. Sadly, he is vell-protected… and I must ask that you fight the guards alone, vithout the help of your so clever friends. But surely a great vizard like yourself vill have no trouble."

"I'll do my best," I say, with a confidence I'm far from feeling.

Paienjen leads me to the opposite wall. A touch of his hand brings a hidden door into view. "After you, Harry Potter," he says, bowing slightly.

**Hermione**

It's only when I look at Ron that I realize the Polyjuice is wearing off. "Quick, change clothes with me before he comes back!" I hiss, kicking off Ron's suddenly too-large trainers.

"I'm not waiting round for him to come back," Ron says grimly. "I'm going after him. Hermione, I want you to do a Disillusionment Charm on yourself and try to get out of here. Remember you thought that tunnel led outside? You can Apparate home once you're out of this cave, and – "

"I'm not going back through all those vampires on my own," I protest. "And I'm not letting you go on ahead without me, either! We're staying together."

Ron opens his mouth to argue, just as Paienjen returns.

"Still here?" he asks, feigning surprise. "You vill, I think, have rather a long vait. Still, you vill find us most hospitable if you care to stay. Alas, it has been many years since my people have had such temptations before them, and I fear I cannot rely on their continued restraint. Your so lovely throat, Mrs. Veasley…"

I put both hands on my neck involuntarily. Ron puts the fur cloak around my shoulders, fastening it tightly at the throat and pulling up the hood for good measure.

"I won't be very restrained myself, if any of them dare to come near her," he says, his voice low and menacing.

Paienjen shrugs. "I no longer have interest in vhat becomes of you," he says matter-of-factly. "I bore myself vith you. You vill please leave." He opens the original door with a sweeping gesture, and there's nothing we can do but go back into the passage.

Thankfully, the vampires who accompanied us earlier don't seem to be anywhere around. But I'm sure they're lurking somewhere nearby. "Now what?" I whisper, reaching for Ron's hand as the doorway vanishes behind us.

"Now we find Harry," Ron says, his warm fingers closing on mine. "You might Conjure us a couple of candles. Those vampires don't seem to like fire."

**Harry**

It feels as though I'm moving even deeper into the mountain. It's just as dark here as it was in the other part of the cavern, but this time I've Conjured a torch and set it Hovering just ahead of me in the air. The flame makes me feel slightly safer from the vampires that I'm sure are just around the next bend. I keep under the Invisibility Cloak with my wand out as I make my way slowly forward. So far there's no sign of Gawain – or anyplace he could be hidden – but there's no other way to go except straight ahead.

"Follow the path," was all Paienjen said as he turned to go. "Ve vill be pleased to have your company, Harry Potter. You vill be able to bring us many more humans, I am thinking."

So that's it – he thinks he can use me as bait to attract more victims. "Never," I had told him – but if I'm a vampire, I'll probably be just as bad as he is. Maybe I won't care about killing people – even Ginny.

"Stop it," I tell myself firmly as I step carefully over the rough ground. "I won't let them make me into a vampire – I'll turn my wand on myself first."

The sudden flaring of the torch ahead alerts me. I stop, just in time to avoid a yawning cavern at my feet that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I move cautiously to the edge and peer down.

The pit glows with a soft, greenish light. And there, hundreds of feet below me, is Gawain. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Harry**

I hold the torch out over the edge of the pit, trying to get a better look at Gawain. He's stretched out on the ground, not moving. I can't tell if he's asleep – or unconscious – or – or...

"He's _not_ dead," I whisper aloud, and an echo immediately picks it up. "Dead…dead…"

Damn it, I think, annoyed. That ought to bring every vampire in the place running. Or – er – flying. Whatever it is they do.

Only nothing happens. The echo dies away, and I'm surrounded by the silence.

Right. I suppose I'd better think how to get down there. I peer dubiously at the sides of the pit, looking for a foothold, but they're as smooth as glass. Too bad Conjuring a broom is beyond my skill level. (Actually, I don't think even Gawain could Conjure one. I expect it's got something to do with someone or other's law, which Hermione would be only too pleased to explain to me.)

I look down at Gawain again, but he hasn't moved. I pick up a small pebble and toss it down, aiming for a spot near his head. The pebble lands with a sound that seems as loud as a cannon-shot, but Gawain doesn't twitch.

Something moves, though – something in the shadows. I tense, readying my wand.

"I know you're there," a woman's voice says suddenly. "Come near him again and I'll stake you through the heart with this!" She brandishes a knitting needle threateningly.

Persimmon. I start to call to her – but if she hears me, so will the vampires.

I suddenly hear Ron's voice. Bloody hell – the mirror. I wish I could tell him where I am, but I don't dare speak aloud.

I do what I probably should've done in the first place and send a Patronus swooping down to join her. Persimmon glances up alertly as soon as it materializes. She knows my Patronus. "Where are you?" she calls softly, her eyes fastening on the burning torch.

I wait. The Patronus whispers my message into her ear.

Persimmon deliberately turns her back on me and the torch. "If you could wake up, Gawain, we might have a go at escaping," she says loudly. "Of course, we can't climb up those walls –not with you in the condition you're in – but someone could certainly climb down them if he had some rope."

I can't Conjure a broom, but I reckon I might be able to manage rope. I look around for something to tie the other end to.

But Persimmon hasn't finished. "Someone could even use this yarn, if he had a wand and could put a Strengthening Charm on it," she remarks, seemingly to herself. She waves the knitting needle again, and this time I see something pink and fluffy dangling from the end.

I step forward. "_Accio_ yarn," I say silently.

**Ron**

The passage to the left leads us into a solid wall of rock. "That narrows it down, then," I say, with an optimism I'm far from feeling. "Come on, let's go the other way."

"That's the way I thought led to the outside," Hermione says dubiously, but she turns to the right. There's no other way to go.

After a few minutes it's fairly obvious that she's right. (She nearly always is, but I try not to mention it too often.) The passage is getting wider, and it's light enough that we don't really need the torches to see with. Not that we're about to get rid of them, mind. Not when we don't know where the vampires all went.

"It's still afternoon, isn't it?" Hermione whispers. "They don't like the daytime."

"It's always night in here," I point out. Hermione shivers a little, and I put my arm around her. "Long as we've got room to walk next to each other, you might let me under that fur cloak with you," I suggest. It's getting colder, too.

Less than five minutes later, we come round a bend and see blue sky through an opening in the cavern wall. "It is still afternoon," I say, helping Hermione climb through ahead of me. "Feels like we were in there for days."

We stand foolishly in the snow looking at each other for a few minutes. The best thing to do would be to Apparate back to New Zealand and try to catch up with the other Aurors, but I hate leaving Harry and the others here.

"Come on," I say to Hermione. "Let's see if we can find that other entrance."

It turns out that we can't. "I don't think it's there anymore," Hermione says at last. "That's where I George and I came in – look, you can still see our footprints – but the entrance is gone. It was right there." She points to a solid-looking wall of rock.

I step forward and try Paienjen's trick of running my hand across the rocks. Nothing. I suddenly remember I've got the mirror and pull it out eagerly, but there's no response from Harry when I call his name. Either he doesn't dare make a noise, or… I look helplessly at Hermione.

"If we went back to New Zealand, couldn't we get back in through that not-a-Portkey thing like you did before?" Hermione asks.

"If we don't run into Dearborn – and if he hasn't taken the charm off it," I say. "We might just as well give it a go, because we're obviously not getting back in there the normal way."

"There's nothing normal about _any_ of this," Hermione says, Vanishing both torches neatly. "I suppose we'd better do Disillusionment Charms."

Either that or disguise ourselves as vampires, and I don't think they wear fur cloaks. "Come on," I say, reaching for her hand. "I'll take us."

The fur cloak is definitely too warm for New Zealand. I throw it over my shoulder as we make our way silently to the library window of Dearborn's house.

"No lights," Hermione whispers. "Do you suppose anyone's there?"

"If they are, I hope they're on our side," I whisper back, trying to see through the darkened window. Aurors would have sense enough not to put a light on, but Dearborn probably wouldn't care – unless he's setting a trap for someone. "Stay back and let me go first," I tell Hermione.

I've hardly got one foot through the window before I feel a wand at my throat. "Identify yourself," someone hisses.

"All right, Hecuba?" I say. "I was about to make myself a corned-beef sandwich – do you fancy one?" I'm the only one of the Aurors who knows Perdita's second name is really Hecuba (she tells everyone it's Susan, but it's not), and one of the things we have in common is a loathing for corned beef.

"You needn't say it out loud," Perdita grumbles. "If Jackson overhears he'll never call me anything else. Where have you been, anyway?"

"Romania," I say. "Hermione's with me. Where's everyone else?"

"Jackson and O'Connor are guarding the cellar room, Hestia's at the front door, and Hathaway's supposed to be monitoring the grounds, but he can't be doing a very good job if you got past him," Perdita says.

"We Apparated straight to the window," Hermione says, removing her Disillusionment Charm and brushing dust from her clothes. "Goodness, whoever lives here isn't much on cleaning, is he?"

"Caradoc Dearborn has more important things on his mind," I say, grinning at the startled look on Hermione's face as she gets a good look at the portrait.

"It's definitely him, then?" Perdita asks eagerly.

I nod. "And we'd better get out of here before he comes back," I say. "Will you call the others?"

"Fine with me," Perdita says promptly. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to help Harry rescue Gawain from Paienjen," I say.

Perdita's mouth opens and then shuts again. She pulls out her wand and sends a flock of silvery ducks out to round up the rest of the group before fixing me with a stern look. "Start talking," she demands.

"I'll only have to tell it all over again," I protest. "All you need to know right now is that Dearborn could – oh, hello, Hestia!"

Hestia hasn't seen me in months, but she's too well-trained to make a fuss over it just now. "Hello, Ron," she says calmly. "Is that Hermione with you?"

Hermione smiles at her, just as Jackson and O'Connor burst into the room. "Where the hell did you disappear to?" Jackson demands.

"Where we're all going, soon as Hathaway gets here," I say.

"I'm here," Hathaway says, scrambling in through the window.  
>"What–" he breaks off, staring at me. "You!" he says. "What are you doing here?" His eyes widen as he sees Hermione standing next to me.<p>

Hathaway hasn't been an Auror anywhere near as long as Hestia, so I suppose I've got to make allowances. "Long story, and there's no time to tell it now," I say briefly. "I need all of you to follow me and do exactly as I do."

I make my way to the portrait, Hermione's hand in mine. "It'll be a bit of a bumpy landing," I warn, looking back over my shoulder at the others. I place my index finger on Dearborn's painted eyebrow. "Caradoc Dearborn!" I say loudly.

**Hermione**

Now I understand. It's like a Portkey, only it isn't. And there definitely ought to be an entrance on this side, since there's most certainly an exit.

"How'd you two end up back here?" George asks, helping me up. "And where's Harry?"

I look around. The vampire is still Petrified, although it appears to be conscious now. George has managed to Conjure some candles, and they're floating gently about the cave. Luna and Rolf have one of them hovering over their heads as they pore over some rolls of parchment.

"Dead boring, that pair," George confides in a low voice. "All they've done is talk about the rare plant forms they've come across in their travels. You'd think they were in a library somewhere instead of trapped in a cave full of vampires."

I beckon impatiently to Rolf and Luna. "The Aurors are coming,  
>and – " I start.<p>

Perdita lands next to me with a thump before I can get the rest of the sentence out. The others follow as she's still brushing the dirt from her jeans.

"Now that we're all here, I'll talk fast," Ron says. "We've suspected for a while that Caradoc Dearborn was the ringleader of the Brotherhood of Blood, and tonight I got definite proof of that. This cave belongs to the vampire Paienjen and his – er – friends, and they're holding Gawain and probably Persimmon prisoner somewhere in here. Harry's looking for them now, and we need to find Harry and get everyone out of here. And we need to do it quickly." He looks at me. "Did I leave anything out?"

"I don't think so," I say, feeling slightly dazed. Thank goodness for Aurors. Instead of asking a lot of useless questions, they all just nod calmly as though Ron's suggested we all go for drinks or something.

"Any idea what's beyond this bit of the cave?" Hestia asks, lighting her wand and peering at the walls.

"Nothing very nice," Ron says. "I can lead us through the caverns. The only thing is, we're going to have to go through Paienjen's quarters to get to where Harry is, and he's not going to like having guests. Oh, and he's got a whole lot of thirsty vampire friends, so mind your necks as we go. They don't like fire, so Conjure yourself a torch and you should get through all right." He pulls out Persimmon's wand as he speaks, looking immeasurably relieved when he manages a torch on his first try.

"Where did Dearborn go?" Hathaway asks.

Ron shrugs. "I thought he'd gone back through the portrait somehow," he says. "Harry and I were a bit worried he might surprise you lot."

"Let's do this," Jackson says, making his way over to us. "Oh, go on, Dara, you can make a bigger torch than that!"

"I have to carry it, don't I?" O'Connor retorts. "Are we going, Ron?"

"Someone needs to stay here with George," Ron says. "Rolf and Luna haven't got wands." He looks at me, but I shake my head. I'm not leaving him to get past Paienjen without me.

"You might have to do another puzzle," I say, when Ron looks dubious.

"I'll stay," Hestia volunteers. "It's been ages since I've seen Luna. Who's your boyfriend, love?"

"He isn't," Luna says, as flustered as I've ever seen her. "I mean – "

But I don't hear the rest, because Ron's wrapping me snugly in the fur cloak. "Keep the hood over your head," he says. "And can't you do some sort of charm so you don't keep tripping on the hem?" He raises his voice. "Supersensory Charms, everyone – those vampires come out of bloody nowhere!"

With the flaming torch in one hand and my wand in the other, I follow him to the back of the cave.

**Harry**

I'm tempted to just slide down the length of pink yarn, but I force myself to go slowly and carefully. I won't be much use to Persimmon and Gawain if I fall and knock myself out.

The yarn looks fragile, but the Strengthening Charm holds until I reach the bottom. "There you are," I say in a whisper, tossing the end to Persimmon. "I'm afraid I've ruined whatever this pink thing was that you were making."

"It was supposed to be a baby gift for you and Ginny," Persimmon says.

"In that case, no harm done," I say cheerfully. "You'll want blue yarn - Ginny says it's a boy."

I keep up the light hearted remarks to cover up what I'm really doing - setting Protection Charms all around us. I don't know that any of them work against vampires or whatever else Dearborn's got up his sleeve, but hopefully they'll hold long enough for me to get Gawain and Persimmon out of here.

"What's happened to him?' I ask, finishing off the spells with a Muffliato and turning anxiously to Persimmon. "Stunned?"

"No," Persimmon says grimly. "He's weak from loss of blood."

I stop in my tracks. "He isn't – he's not a – " I can't make myself say it.

Persimmon shakes her head. "No, because he isn't dead yet," she answers. "They've been feeding off him every day, but they always stop just before – you know."

I've reached Gawain's side by now, and I bend over him. "Gawain?" I say softly. "Can you hear me?" I take him gently by the shoulder, forcing myself not to recoil at the sight of the wounds on his throat.

"He was conscious off and on earlier, but I haven't been able to rouse him in hours," Persimmon says worriedly. "I don't think he can take much more, Harry. One more time might finish him off."

I look up at her. "And you were going to fight them off with your knitting needle!" I say admiringly. "Does that actually work – staking them through the heart?"

"I've always heard it does," Persimmon says. "Mind, I've never actually tried it – and I've never heard of anyone doing it with a knitting needle."

"I may take up knitting myself after this," I say. "It's come in dead useful so far." I look around, but I can't see an exit. "How do the vampires get in here?"

"Up there, I expect," Persimmon says, pointing to the spot I just left. "Gawain said they just sort of appear."

Great. I'd been thinking I could Conjure a stretcher and use a Hover Charm to get Gawain out of here, but I don't want to lead him straight into a mob of hungry vampires. "How many of them?" I ask, trying to calculate the odds of protecting all three of us with one wand – and a knitting needle.

Persimmon shakes her head helplessly. "I haven't actually seen them yet," she admits. "It's what Gawain told me before he collapsed again."

I think fast. If Persimmon's been here for several hours and she hasn't seen a vampire, they're probably due for a feeding any time now.

"We need to get out of here as quickly as we can," Persimmon says, echoing my thoughts. "Even if we have to try and fight them off when we get up there, it's better than just sitting here and waiting for them."

"It seems like there ought to be another way out," I say, half to myself.

"There isn't," Persimmon says firmly. "I've examined every square inch of this horrible pit. We're going to have to go up, Harry – there's no other way. Please let's hurry – we may be able to get away before they come back."

I glance up again at my torch, still flickering bravely at the edge of the pit. I think I see something moving in the shadows just beyond it. "It may be too late for that," I say.

**Ron**

Whether it's because there are so many more of us or because we've all got torches, the vampires seem to be giving us a wide berth. Fine with me, I think, leading the group to the hidden entrance to Paienjen's quarters. "Put your torches out, everyone," I say in a low voice. "This is where we go in."

My own torch is the only one still burning when they've finished. I look around, making sure we're still alone.

"Er, Ron?" Jackson whispers. "This is a solid wall, mate."

"Is it?" I say. "Try knocking."

Jackson shrugs and leans over to rap on the wall with his fist. "Hello in there," he calls softly. "We've come for tea."

"Shut up," O'Connor hisses.

Nothing happens for a moment, and then the outline of a door slowly appears on the wall. I raise my eyebrows at Jackson, who grins back.

"Stand well away so that you can't be seen," I warn the others, just before the door opens.

"So, Mr. Veasley," Paienjen's voice says from somewhere in the darkness beyond the doorway. "You have returned. You are perhaps missing Paienjen's company? You are vishing to do another puzzle?"

"Actually, I thought we might have a chat," I say. "I wanted to talk to you – about Durmstrang."

"You are vundering how I am knowing," Paienjen says, sounding a bit smug.

"I know about your deal with Kirilov and the others," I say. "I'm sure they told you everything they knew. The thing is, they didn't know who I was at Durmstrang. They couldn't have – they would have killed me immediately. So who did tell you?"

"Ah," Paienjen says. "There, Mr. Veasley, is a puzzle that even your so lovely vife could not unravel. She is clever, but not so clever as all that, perhaps."

I'm dying to look at Hermione right now, just to see how much that annoyed her, but I don't dare look away from where I think Paienjen's standing.

"Gawain knew," I say slowly. "You might have tortured it out of him."

"So I might," Paienjen says agreeably. "It so happens that I did not. There vas no need, do you see? I have only vun reason for keeping your Gawain Robards here, and now he has served his purpose."

"Harry," Hermione breathes, so softly that I'm not sure if she spoke aloud or only in my head.

"Harry," I repeat to Paienjen. "You knew Harry would come after him." My eyes are getting used to the dark now, and I can see him fairly clearly.

"Vhere is Harry Potter, so many others vill come," Paienjen says gleefully. "They are not knowing until it is too late that he is vun of mine. Paienjen and his vampires must not leave the caverns to feed, but now there is no need to do so. The food vill come to them. The so-famous Harry Potter vill call them for us, and they vill come. Just as you have come, Mr. Veasley. And perhaps you vill be his first victim, yes? Or perhaps Potter's vife vill answer his summons…"

"Shut it," I say roughly. "Harry's no vampire."

"No," Paienjen says regretfully. "Not yet, perhaps. But alvays there is time. Humans tire – and he is just vun against so many. Even you, Mr. Veasley, are just vun man."

"Am I?" I say. "I think that's where you're wrong."

I motion to the others and thrust my torch forward at the same moment. I hear Paienjen shriek as the flame catches the edge of his robes.

**Hermione**

I don't understand why the flames aren't burning Paienjen at first – and then I see that Ron's doing some sort of Freezing Charm to keep them from reaching past the hem of his robes. He gestures to us to go past him into Paienjen's chamber.

I enter with the others, feeling another wave of the vague uneasiness that came over me when we were in the front part of the cave. Of course, this is obviously a very dangerous situation, but it's something more than that. Something seems… a bit off.

Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to be bothering anyone else. The four Aurors hurry straight through the room at Ron's tersely whispered "back wall" and begin carefully running their wands over the rough brick.

"Got it!" Perdita says triumphantly as the outline of another door appears. She turns and catches Ron's eye. "Shall I?" she asks, nodding at Paienjen.

"If you wouldn't mind," Ron says politely. "I've got my hands full at the moment."

I watch as she almost carelessly flicks her wand at the vampire, Stunning him neatly. Another flick extinguishes the flames.

"Petrifying them seems to work well," Ron remarks, following up his words with a _Petrificus Totalus_ charm. "And maybe we'd better put him out of sight in case some of his followers drop round."

"Just finish him off," Jackson calls impatiently. "It's open!"

He means the door, which is indeed standing invitingly ajar.

"We might need him later," Ron says. "He controls all the other ones. And you'd better light your torches again. I don't know what's back there, but there're bound to be vampires. Funny we haven't come across any besides Paienjen."

"You did say they're afraid of fire," O'Connor reminds him, but I think it's odd, too. They were certainly in evidence before.

"All right?" Ron says to me. "Got your torch?"

I nod.

"Ron?" Hathaway interrupts. "Maybe someone ought to stay and watch the vampire – just in case."

"What the hell for?" Ron demands. "Petrified, isn't he? He'll be all right – I just need to stuff him in a cupboard or something."

There it is again – that feeling of not-quite-rightness. "Ron," I start, and then hesitate. It'll sound ridiculous if I try to put it into words.

Ron waves Hathaway toward the others and turns to me. "There's a wardrobe in the corner," I whisper, not sure why I'm trying to keep from being overheard. "It looks big enough to hold him."

"Ron?" Perdita calls softly from the doorway. "There's a light down there." The others are clustered around her, peering through the gap in the door.

"Go on," I say to Ron. "I'll do it."

He squeezes my hand briefly before hurrying over to join Perdita. I put a Hover Charm on Paienjen (I'm certainly not about to touch him) and start him floating in the direction of the wardrobe.

And then I stop. I glance around to make sure no one's looking at me as I impulsively send Paienjen zooming underneath the table instead. I flick my wand at the tablecloth to make sure it falls all the way to the floor, completely hiding him from view. Then I turn back to the wardrobe, letting the door open and close with a loud bang.

I'm not quite sure what made me do that, but for some reason it makes me feel slightly better as I join the others by the door.

Just as Perdita said, there's a faint light flickering far away in the darkness. It looks as though it's miles away, but it's hard to judge distance in this place. As we watch, it seems to grow larger.

"Getting closer," Jackson whispers. "It wouldn't be a bloody vampire – not if it's got fire."

"Who says it's fire?" Perdita answers. "Other things make light. Muggles have all sorts, haven't they, Hermione?"

I confine myself to nodding. It's pointless to explain that Paienjen's cave is hardly likely to be wired for electricity. "I think it's probably fire, though," I add. "Maybe it's Harry."

"Right," Ron says, taking charge. "Perdita and I will investigate. Jackson and O'Connor, follow at a distance and be ready if we need backup. " He glances at me and hesitates. "Hermione, stay with Hathaway," he says at last. "If the rest of us seem to be in trouble, go and fetch Hestia as quickly as you can."

I don't like this. Being separated from Ron makes me feel more uneasy than ever. He throws me a quick apologetic look as he and Perdita slip one at a time through the door. Jackson and O'Connor wait briefly before following in silence. Within seconds, they've all been swallowed up by the darkness. All I can see are the bobbing flames of their torches, growing smaller and smaller as they move away.

"You needn't worry about them," Hathaway says comfortingly. "They know what they're doing."

I know he means to make me feel better, but in this case, it simply isn't going to work. I hold my breath as the torches borne by Ron and Perdita draw closer to the mysterious light.

**Harry**

"Maybe it's not a vampire," Persimmon says hopefully. "Gawain said they came straight down before – they didn't hang about at the top."

"They don't like fire," I say absently, still trying to get a look at whatever's moving in the shadows. "They wouldn't – " I stop, staring at Persimmon. "I'm an idiot," I tell her.

"You're not," Persimmon says indignantly. "I've always said you were very clever, and what's more, Gawain thinks so too!"

"They're afraid of fire," I repeat. "That means all I've got to do is make fire – lots of it – and they'll back off."

"There's a sort of charm where you make a ring of it," Persimmon says helpfully. "Although I must admit, I've never seen it done."

"I have," I say briefly. I wonder if Dumbledore would shake his head in despair at the thought of me forgetting – twice. "It works on Inferi, so let's hope it does the same with vampires."

I haven't much faith in my ability to Conjure the same ring of fire that Dumbledore did, but I can manage a simple Replicating Charm well enough. In no time, a ring of torches are burning around the edges of the pit.

"Make a few more and send them on ahead to sort of clear the way for us," Persimmon suggests. "I wish I'd got my wand! I suppose that horrible man destroyed it."

"No, it's safe," I say, sending a couple of torches on their way. "By the way, you never did tell me properly. What exactly happened to you?"

"I should have been more careful, but I was so eager to get a look in that old house," Persimmon says ruefully. "I thought if anyone caught me I'd pretend to be a bit dotty – it usually works rather well. And it would have worked this time, too, except Caradoc Dearborn knew me right away and there was no use pretending after that."

"Was Dearborn alone?" I ask.

"Yes, and I'm sure I could have taken him if I hadn't been so startled," Persimmon says. "I was sure he must be dead, you see. Although I must say, he hasn't aged well."

I puzzle over that one for a second before deciding to let it go. "And he took you through the portrait?" I ask.

"Not right away," Persimmon answers. "He used a Binding Charm and left me on the library floor while he went through by himself – that's how I knew it was a Portkey. Only I don't suppose it is, really, is it? Anyway, he returned almost straight away, and hustled me into the cellar. He left me alone down there for hours, and I wasn't able to throw the charm off without my wand, although I did manage to leave a few clues in case anyone else came along."

"Ron and I found them," I tell her. "They were a big help to us."

Persimmon looks pleased. "Were they, dear? Well, Dearborn finally came back, and I tried to attack him with my knitting needle. I expect he must have Stunned me, because when I came round I was here with Gawain lying beside me." She glances anxiously at Gawain again as she speaks.

"We ought to be all right now," I say. "Let me have a go at Conjuring a stretcher, and then we'll float him up to the top."

"And how are we going to get up there?" Persimmon asks, while I'm still looking dubiously at the poor excuse for a stretcher that's all I seem able to manage. Well, it ought to hold together long enough to get him up there, and then – wait a minute, what?

I stare at Persimmon in consternation. "Dunno," I admit. "I could make a second stretcher and float you up there, and then – well, I suppose I might climb back up the yarn." I don't fancy it, but I can't think of anything else.

Persimmon nods. "I suppose it's the only thing to do," she answers. "I do think we'd better reinforce that Strengthening Charm, dear, and – " She breaks off, her eyes widening.

I start to turn, but then I realize I don't need to. They're everywhere. All around us, dark shapes are seemingly melting out of the walls.

I push Persimmon behind me and take up a threatening stance over Gawain, but I know it's no use. I can't protect all three of us on my own forever.

**Ron**

It's a torch, all right, but it seems to be on its own.

"Invisible, do you think?" Perdita whispers.

Maybe – but somehow I don't think so. The torch is gliding along smoothly, not bobbing up and down like it would be if someone were walking with it. "One way to find out," I whisper back, bending and scooping up a chunk of rock from the ground. I aim exactly where someone's arm would be if they were holding the torch.

Perdita catches on instantly and tosses a few rocks of her own. The torch glides forward, apparently unconcerned.

"It's been charmed," I whisper. "Look, here comes another one. Harry must have done it."

Perdita smiles grimly. "I can't think anyone else down here would have wanted to make fire," she agrees. "So all we have to do is go back to where they're coming from and we ought to find Harry."

"Easy enough, yeah?" I say, although I'm not expecting it to be that simple. Nothing ever is, is it?

I keep my wand out as we pass the first torch, but apparently it wasn't charmed to attack because it just ignores us. Perdita and I encounter several more as we make our way through the caverns, all heading in the same direction.

"It's miles," Perdita whispers after several minutes of walking. "Wish we'd got a couple of brooms or something."

So do I. I glance back over my shoulder, feeling only slightly reassured to see Jackson and O'Connor trailing us in the distance. I don't like being this far from Hermione. If something happens –

"Ron, stop!" Perdita hisses, grabbing my arm. "We're at the edge of a cliff!"

I look down and instantly wish I hadn't. Bloody hell, one more step and I'd have been a dead man. I take a deep breath and edge backwards.

"This must be where the torches are coming from," Perdita says. "Look, they're all round the edge in a ring. Do you suppose they're down there?"

I take a cautious step forward and look down again. I can see more fire. At first I think it's another ring of torches, like the one up here, but as my eyes adjust, I realize it isn't. At least, not exactly.

"Perdita?" I say. "What does that look like to you?"

Perdita hates heights. She shuffles forward like an old woman and visibly steels herself to look down. "More torches," she says promptly. "Only – "

"It's Harry," I say. "At least, it's a person. Look closer."

Perdita takes a firm grip of my arm with the hand that isn't holding the torch and moves about a quarter of an inch closer to the edge. "He's holding them off," she gasps. "Vampires – can you see them?"

I couldn't at first, but now I realize that the darkness around the ring of fire is filled with whirling shapes. Bloody hell, I never knew there were that many vampires in the world, let alone in this cave. There must be hundreds of them.

Jackson and O'Connor have reached us by now. "Harry's down there," I say, not taking my eyes off the flames below. "The vampires are all around him."

"We did wonder where they'd got to," O'Connor says mildly, but the torch in her hand trembles slightly. "Well, now what? Will we go down there and help him fight them off?"

That was my first impulse, but it seems to me there ought to be a better way. I start to reach for the mirror and then stop. Harry can't answer me now – it might break his concentration.

Jackson crouches down, dangerously close to the edge. "If we could just get them up here without dislodging that Fire Charm,' he says thoughtfully.

"Them?" Perdita says, startled.

"There's more than one person down there," Jackson says. "The flames jumped just now and I got a better look. "

I manage to free my arm from Perdita's grip and join him and the edge. "Watch closely," Jackson says. "Now! Did you see?"

I can't make out much more than shapes, but Jackson's right – it's more than one person. "He's got Gawain, I'll bet," I say proudly. "He said he'd bring him back."

"Levitating Charms," Perdita says. "All of us…"

I catch on straight away. "You two do the fire ring," I tell Jackson and O'Connor. "Perdita and I will take Harry and Gawain."

"They might panic and try to fight us off," O'Connor warns.

"They won't," I say. "Because I'm going to tell him." I reach again for the mirror in my pocket. "Harry!" I shout at the top of my voice. "We're going to bring you lot up with a Levitating Charm. Don't fight it!" I look worriedly at the others. "I think he heard me, even if he wasn't holding the mirror," I say.

"They heard you back in New Zealand," Jackson says.

Which means that any of Paienjen's followers who might still be lurking nearby probably heard me, too. No time to lose then, is there? "On three," I say briskly. "Ready? One – two – three!"

The four of us direct our wands at the ring of fire beneath us.

**Hermione**

Hathaway and I remain in the doorway until the last of the four torches disappears around a bend and we're plunged into darkness once more. I glance at the candle flame, still glowing dimly on the wall of Paienjen's chamber. It's oddly reassuring, even if it doesn't offer much protection.

I turn back just in time to see Hathaway sealing the door.

"What on earth are you doing?" I demand. "They won't be able to get back – and we won't be able to get help to them!"

"We can open it again if we need to," Hathaway says. "We don't know what's lurking in the back of the cave, do we? Dearborn could still be here somewhere."

And now I know what was bothering me. When we first got here, Hathaway asked Ron where Dearborn had gone. Only Ron never mentioned his encounter with Dearborn to any of the Aurors – there simply wasn't time. So the only way Hathaway could have known Dearborn had been here would be if –

I realize my thoughts must show on my face and quickly turn away, but it's too late.

"Yes," Hathaway says, and his twisted smile makes him look quite unlike the genial, studious Auror I've met on several occasions. "You really are very clever for a Mudblood, aren't you? I didn't realize that anyone had noticed my little slip."

I manage to cast a Shield Charm just in time to block the curse he flings at me. "You're with Dearborn," I whisper, backing slowly toward the other exit.

"Not exactly," Hathaway says promptly. "I'm not _with_ Caradoc Dearborn – I _am_ Caradoc Dearborn. And you, I believe, are the Mudblood who helped Potter destroy the Dark Lord."

I glare at him. "My name is Hermione Weasley," I say. "And you're a traitor. You betrayed the Order of the Phoenix."

"It's your husband who's the traitor," Dearborn snaps. "A blood traitor – just like all the Weasleys!"

I keep my wand trained on him. "You know who my husband is?" I ask, although now I can pinpoint the moment when he figured out Ron wasn't a disowned Weasley cousin called Barney.

"A clever trick, but he let his guard down too soon," Dearborn says dismissively. "It wasn't terribly difficult to infiltrate his little group. I've been ducking the Aurors for years, so I know their ways. When I realized several of them were staking out my library, I simply waited outside for the inevitable lookout to appear. An Imperious Curse made him quite amenable to the idea of handing over a few strands of hair and exchanging cloaks with me."

Poor Hathaway – but at least he's probably still alive. I'm not sure what happens if a person dies while you've Polyjuiced yourself into him, but it can't be anything good.

Dearborn and I eye each other warily, wands out. I don't even dare to blink. If I could distract him… maybe keep him talking…

"What made you change sides?" I ask quickly. "You were one of the original Order members, weren't you?"

"Certainly," Dearborn agrees promptly. "I made it a point to join up with them as soon as I realized what a threat they were to the Dark Lord's plans. He was most pleased with the information I was able to pass along to him."

"But you disappeared," I say. "Everyone thought you were dead."

Dearborn eyes me. "And I thought you were clever," he says. "Can't you work it out on your own?"

"Someone caught on, I expect," I say. "You were about to be exposed. So you faked your own death." I think for a second. "No suspicions were ever brought up afterwards, so most likely whoever suspected you is dead."

"Marlene McKinnon, another Order member," Dearborn confirms. "It was rather difficult to pull off – I was forced to take out her entire family to make it look like a proper Death Eater hit. Shame she was on the wrong side. She was clever – nearly as clever as you are – but I was one step ahead of her. Just as I'm one step ahead of you and your blood traitor husband." He aims another curse at me, so suddenly that I scarcely have time to block it.

His Polyjuice is wearing off. If anyone were to see him now, they'd know he wasn't Hathaway.

"This place is crawling with Aurors, and I haven't any more time to waste on an amateur," Dearborn says. "If you're determined to remain alive, I suppose I'll just have to leave you for my dear friend Paienjen to finish off. He's not as particular about Mudbloods as I am." He flicks his wand at the wardrobe door. His jaw drops slightly when the door swings open, revealing nothing but a few cloaks.

"What did you do with him?" Dearborn hisses.

I hastily fix an expression of surprise on my own face. "He must have escaped," I say, trying to sound convincing.

"We were right here," Dearborn reminds me. "And in any case, he was Petrified. I repeat – what did you do with him?"

The look on his face is truly terrifying, and I don't have to pretend to let my voice tremble when I answer. "N-nothing, I swear!" I say. My mind is racing. I can only think of one thing to do, but it's an awful risk.

"I'm surprised you want Paienjen set free," I say loudly. "Everyone knows you mean to betray him now that you've got what you wanted."

Dearborn looks briefly taken off guard. "What are you talking about?" he snaps.

"The vampire hunters, of course," I say, raising my voice a bit more. "Ron and I ran into them just outside the cave. They said you'd sent for them – that you had proof that Paienjen had broken his agreement with the Romanian Ministry. They're allowed to destroy him if he leaves the cave – but I expect you know all that, don't you?"

"You've completely lost your mind," Dearborn says icily.

"Have I?" I say. "Why would I –" I break off, deliberately looking at the door and letting my eyes widen.

Dearborn falls for it, looking sideways for a split second while keeping his wand trained on me.

But a split second is long enough. I point my wand unobtrusively at the table in the corner, silently removing the Petrification Charm.

"Enough of this," Dearborn says menacingly, taking another step closer to me. "Where is Paienjen?"

"No need to look any further, I think," Paienjen hisses, and sinks his teeth into Dearborn's throat.

**Harry**

It takes a few seconds for the Charms to work in conjunction , but now we're rising slowly. The stretcher bearing Gawain moves easily on its own, but Persimmon's weight is nearly puling my arm out of the socket.

"Persimmon?" I manage through gritted teeth. "Could you possibly hold onto the stretcher instead?"

"Oh dear, your poor arm," Persimmon says, transferring her grip to the stretcher. I concentrate on maintaining the ring of fire around us as we float slowly upwards. The vampires float with us, waiting avidly for a slip-up.

I hadn't thought I could manage it. I'd done the best I could with the torches, and they were still coming for us. "Dumbledore, help me," I'd said silently. And maybe I'm crazy, but I swear he answered me. Suddenly I'd had a mental picture of him holding off the Inferi – and I knew just how to create the ring of fire he'd used.

"We're nearly at the top," Persimmon says, her voice bringing me back to the present. "Only a little longer, dear. I can see them, now. My goodness, whatever is Ron Weasley doing here? And Perdita – I thought she was still on maternity leave!"

I can see them now, too. There's Ron, with Perdita next to him, and there are at least two others. That means the rest of the Aurors must have arrived at last. Hopefully there are enough of them to fight off the vampires, because there doesn't seem to be any way to shake them.

Evidently the same thought's just occurred to Ron, because a look of consternation appears on his face as we draw level with the top. "Grab a torch!" he yells to the others as Persimmon, the stretcher and I float gently to the ground at the edge of the pit. "Here, Persimmon, have this one! And – bloody hell, what's happened to Gawain?"

"Vampires, " I say briefly, still concentrating on the ring of fire. I expand it suddenly, looping it neatly around several vampires. Their shrieks of pain and rage fill the cavern.

"That's how to do it," Ron shouts to the others. "Harry, how'd you manage that ring of it? Oh, never mind, I'll just do it this way!"

He aims a torch unerringly at a vampire that's heading straight for the stretcher. It goes down in flames as the torch hits its mark.

The others follow suit. I cast the ring of fire again, trying to lasso another group.

"They're going!" O'Connor shouts.

She's right. The remaining vampires are swooping back into the safety of the pit as quickly as they can.

"Drove 'em off, by Merlin!" Jackson says triumphantly, slinging an arm around O'Connor's shoulders. "If you don't mind, Harry, I won't stop to chat. I think I'd rather give my report over a nice firewhisky at the Leaky Cauldron if it's all the same to – is that Gawain?"

"It is, and we've got to get him out of here as quickly as possible," I say, putting a fresh Hover Charm on the stretcher. There's an ominous sound of ripping cloth and I hastily lower it to the ground again, feeling grateful that the fabric waited until now to tear.

"Never mind, we can just carry him," Ron says, joining me next to the stretcher. "Bloody hell, he doesn't look very good, does he?"

I don't bother to answer. "Can you take his feet?" I say instead, bending to gather Gawain's head and shoulders.

I look up at the sound of running footsteps. Everyone immediately trains their wand at the approaching figure, but then we recognize Hermione.

"What's happened?" Ron asks anxiously, abandoning Gawain's feet to hurry over to her side. "Where's Hathaway?"

"He's not Hathaway, he's Dearborn," Hermione answers, clinging to Ron. "And I rather think Paienjen may have killed him by now – I didn't stop to find out."

We've hardly absorbed this rather startling news when Hermione suddenly notices the stretcher. "Who on earth Conjured this?" she demands, immediately producing a far superior one and levitating Gawain onto it. "And the poor man is half-frozen!" She slips the fur cloak from her shoulders and settles it around Gawain. "We need to get him to St. Mungo's immediately." She looks at me. "We've finished here, haven't we?"

"I think so," I say guardedly.

Only as it turns out, we haven't.

**Ron**

We make an odd-looking procession as we make our way back toward Paienjen's quarters. The stretcher bearing Gawain is in the center, with Persimmon hovering anxiously near it. A long trail of pink yarn follows her. The rest of us surround them, still carrying torches. A pair of charmed torches travels ahead of us, but so far we haven't seen any sign of a vampire.

"Something on the ground up ahead," Jackson whispers, bringing us all to a halt.

He and O'Connor are in the front with Harry. "It's Dearborn," Harry's voice says grimly. "He's dead."

Hermione edges closer to me. "I don't want to see," she whispers.

Neither do I, particularly, but I want my wand back. "Stay here with Perdita," I say, giving her hand a squeeze. I make my way over to the dark shape on the floor.

One look is enough to tell me that Harry's right. Dearborn's body looks drained and bloodless. "_Accio_ wand," I say, feeling slightly ill.

My wand flies into my hand, followed by Dearborn's. Always nice to have a spare. "Here you are, Persimmon," I say, handing hers back. "Thanks for the loan."

"You're most welcome, dear," Persimmon says. "Was it nice in Brazil?"

I can't even think where to begin answering. Luckily for me, O'Connor immediately begins telling her the whole story.

"Where do you suppose Painejen went?' Hermione says uneasily.

Sleeping it off, most likely, but I don't say so. "He won't bother us," I tell her. I hope.

"Let's go," Harry says, with an anxious look at Gawain.

We keep walking. Paienjen's quarters should be just round that next bend. I really wish there was another way out of here.

"He might let us through," Hermione says hopefully. "He thinks I saved him from the vampire hunters."

The what? "He won't be pleased to see Harry escape," I point out.

"He isn't going to see me at all," Harry says, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket. "You're going to tell him that the vampires got me."

"Brilliant," Perdita says approvingly. "But how are we going to explain Gawain and Persimmon?"

Harry thinks for a minute. "Put an Engorging Charm on the stretcher," he suggests. "Persimmon and I will climb on next to Gawain and I'll throw the Cloak over all of us."

Hermione hurries forward to handle the Charm. I don't think she trusts the rest of us to do it properly.

The stretcher's the size of a camp bed when she finishes, and the Cloak barely covers the three of them. It's going to be a bit awkward, getting that thing through Paienjen's doorway, but I can't think of anything better so I keep my mouth shut.

I notice Hermione shivering and put my arm around her. "Nearly there," I say hopefully.

Paienjen's door is ahead of us now. "Let me go first," I say, moving to the front of the group.

I peer inside cautiously, but there's no sign of Paienjen. "All clear," I whisper, turning back to the others. They hurry past me through Paienjen's quarters and through the other door. Hermione halts when she gets to my side. "I'm not going on without you," she says firmly.

I glance around the room one more time as we make our way to the exit. The rest have gone on ahead. I turn back just in time to see the wardrobe door swing open.

"Ron Veasley, I think?" Kirilov says, stepping out of the wardrobe. "Or perhaps I should address you as Professor Harris? Oh yes, Mr. Veasley, I am hearing the whole story in prison. You vill pay for betraying us!"

I duck just in time and his curse hits the wall behind me. "Hermione, run!" I shout, shoving her ahead of me and firing back at Kirilov.

Hermione ignores me and aims a curse of her own at Kirilov. It goes wide, and he turns on her with a snarl.

"I don't think so," I say, and Stun him neatly. I've really had just about enough for one day. I can't deal with bloody Kirilov just now.

Hermione clutches at me with ice-cold fingers. "What'll we do with him?" she whispers.

I'm half-tempted to leave him for the vampires, but if we want the Bulgarian Ministry to cooperate, I suppose we'd better return him. "What do you think?" I say wearily, Summoning Kirilov's wand before Petrifying him. "We'll have to take him along, even though he's going to be a right pain."

Perdita sticks her head back through the doorway. "What's taking so long?" she hisses. "Oh!"

"Perdita, meet Professor Kirilov from Durmstrang," I say, floating him along ahead of me. "He was definitely not one of my better friends while I was there."

**Hermione**

It's a relief to make it to the outer cavern. George and Hestia are crouched near the wall of the cave looking at something, but they leap to their feet at the sight of us. Luna, deep in conversation with the captured vampire, completely ignores our arrival.

"I know Daddy would like to interview you for _The Quibble_r," I hear her saying. "But you must promise you won't bite anyone."

"He can't promise," Rolf points out logically. "He's Petrified."

_Thank goodness Luna hasn't a wand,_ I think. Harry throws off the Invisibiilty Cloak and jumps off the stretcher, holding out a hand to help Persimmon down. "Let's get out of here," he says. "Ron and Hermione, you said you found a way out before?"

"It's back that way," Ron says, a little doubtfully. I know he's thinking of Painejen.

Harry notices Kirilov for the first time. "Isn't that the Brotherhood bloke from Durmstrang?" he asks. "I thought he was in prison."

Ron shrugs. "He escaped," he says, rather unnecessarily.

"Maybe that was the letter I brought you from Percy," George suggests.

Harry groans and reaches into his pocket for a rather crumpled looking roll of parchment.

"Don't stop to read it now," I say. "Goodness, I wish there was some other way out of here. "

"Hestia and I have been over every inch of this place looking for the other end of the Portkey," George says. "There's no sign of it."

"Why not ask him?" Luna asks, suddenly deciding to join the conversation. She nods toward the vampire. "He isn't going to attack anyone – he's promised me."

"How?" I ask, but Harry's already standing in front of the vampire. He wisely binds its arms and legs before releasing it from the Petrification Charm.

"Do you speak English?" he asks.

The vampire shrugs. "A little," it admits.

"Can you tell us how to get out of here?" Harry continues.

The vampire glares at him. "Her, I vill tell," it says jerking its head in Luna's direction. "She is kind… and she promise I vill be famous. And also, she has very nice neck," it adds, looking at Luna's throat with longing eyes.

"You promised," Luna tells it, unruffled.

The vampire sighs. "So I did," it admits. "Vell, I vill tell you that you are looking in wrong place."

"We knew that," George whispers, exasperated.

The vampire ignores him. "Is portrait, do you see?" it says to Luna. "You must look for frame."

We all follow its eyes to the ceiling of the cave. "I see it!" Hestia shouts. "Look how the rocks are forming a sort of border up there?"

"How are we going to get up there?" O'Connor asks doubtfully. The frame-like rocks are a good ten feet above our heads.

"We'll float up, on this," Harry says, patting the stretcher. "Can you make it big enough for all of us, Hermione?"

It's a bit of a tight squeeze, but we all manage to fit. We all duck our heads as the stretcher bumps gently against the roof of the cave.

"Caradoc Dearborn!" Harry says confidently, touching the edge of the rocks with his hand.

Nothing happens.

"It's backwards, silly," Luna says calmly. "You're going the other way this time."

Harry gives her the same confused look that I think must be on my own face, but he touches the frame again. "Er, Dearborn Caradoc?" he ventures.

Without warning, I'm picking myself up off a very dusty floor. Caradoc Dearborn's portrait glares at me from the wall.

"I told you," Luna says. "It was the only sensible way for it to work."

_Six Months Later_

**Ron**

"That's the last of it," I announce from the top of the stepladder, waving a scrap of wallpaper at Hermione. I still don't understand what was so terrible about it, but Hermione says she'll sleep better knowing it's out of the house.

"Good," Hermione says approvingly. "Now we can paint the walls."

No, we can't. "I wonder if Ginny's had the baby yet?" I say, trying to distract her. "The healer told them it'd be any day now."

"I suppose you miss Harry at work," Hermione says, flipping through a stack of paint samples. "Still, it must be like old times, having Gawain back."

"He didn't stay retired very long," I say, taking advantage of her preoccupation to sit down on the bottom rung of the ladder. I could do with a rest.

Hermione sets two samples to one side and looks at them thoughtfully. "I do think it's sweet that he and Persimmon got married after all these years," she says. "He was awfully lonely before."

"He's not lonely now," I say. "Persimmon's got about a million nieces and nephews and she's always having them to stay at their house. Gawain says he had to come back to work to get some peace and quiet." Although he didn't look as if he minded, really.

"Choose one," Hermione says, handing me the samples. "And the other can be for the guest room, when Anya comes to visit us in the holidays."

They look exactly the same to me. "Er, this one?" I say, picking one at random.

Hermione regards it with narrowed eyes. "Or the other," I add hastily. "Harry's doing really well as Department Head, did I tell you?"

"About a dozen times," Hermione says, but she smiles at me. "And you're quite right – we ought to be hearing from him and Ginny at almost any time now." She sets the paint sample aside and takes the other one from me. "The instructions say to place it in a pot and stir it three times to release the paint," she says. "We could easily finish the dining room this evening."

As if in answer to a prayer, a silvery mist begins to form near the window. "Hermione, look!" I say. "I'll bet that's Harry. The baby must have come! We'll have to go straight over and see him."

"It might be a girl," Hermione says.

"Weasleys have boys," I remind her.

Hermione gives me a half-smile as the silver stag begins to take shape. "Grangers," she says, "have girls."

It's a good thing I'm on the bottom rung, because I nearly fall off the ladder. "Hermione?" I manage. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Hermione smiles again and hushes me as the stag begins to speak.

**Harry**

"Told you it'd be a boy," Ginny says.

I smooth her hair back from her face. "You did brilliantly," I tell her.

"A very fine boy," Healer Kelly says, handing Ginny a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket.

I sit carefully on the edge of the bed, leaning forward as Ginny pulls back a fold of the blanket. "Ten fingers," she whispers. "Ten toes. Oh, Harry, isn't he beautiful?"

Beautiful's going a bit far – red and wrinkled is more like it – but I know just how she feels. "Our son," I say, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

"Wouldn't you like to hold him?" Ginny asks, plunking the baby suddenly into my arms.

I'm almost afraid to breathe at first – I don't ever remember Teddy being this tiny – but after a minute I relax. The baby sleeps on, unperturbed.

"I need a name for the birth certificate," Healer Kelly says, quill in hand.

"James Sirius Potter," Ginny and I answer together. 


End file.
